Black and White
by Violette
Summary: Ezra's cousin is visiting, while the guys are looking for a new weapons buyer in town. Are the two connected?
1. Part 1

Black and White

  


ATF Universe

  


by Violette

  


**Disclaimer: ** I don't own them. I'm just taking them out to play for a while. 

**Warnings: **This story contains some derogatory language, which is not intended to offend the reader. Bad guys are _supposed_ to be nasty and foul-mouthed, thus their use of slurs and such :-) 

**Rating: **R (language and violence) 

**Summary: ** Ezra's cousin is in town, and so is a new gun buyer. Are the two related and is Ezra's past what it seems?

**Acknowledgements: **Thanks to my betas Axianna, Tess, and Sevenstars. You guys did a great job. Thanks also to MOG for creating this wonderful universe for us to play in. 

**Notes:**** Please** let me know what you think! 

Part 1

* * *

The persistent ringing of his doorbell wakened Ezra from his slumber.  He groaned when he looked at the clock.  8:00 AM.  He put the pillow over his head, determined to ignore the ill-mannered cretin who had decided to wake him at such an ungodly hour on a Sunday morning.  But the ringing continued, with the added cacophony of a fist pounding on his door.  With a growl, Ezra climbed out of bed and stalked toward the door, wrenching it open without even glancing through the peephole, intent upon giving the person on the other side a piece of his mind... or his fist, if it was one of his annoying teammates.  The scathing words died on his lips when he saw who was standing there.

"Bradley?"  Ezra asked, surprise etched on his face.

"Hello, cousin," the blond man said with a grin, his Southern accent heavy.  "Still hate early mornings, I see."

Ezra flushed in embarrassment, remembering that he was standing there clad only in his blue silk pajama bottoms.  "Yes, well, I do prefer to sleep in when I am able."  He smiled and gestured the other man inside, shutting the door behind him.  

"This is a nice place, Ezra," Bradley commented as he surveyed the tastefully decorated condo.  "Much better than that gloomy apartment in Atlanta."

Ezra shrugged.  "The environment here seems to suit me better."

Bradley looked at him, aware of the hidden meaning in his words.  "I heard about your transfer.  Maude told me when I saw her at my father's funeral four months ago."  He eyed Ezra carefully.  "She didn't seem pleased."

Ezra snorted.  "My mother has never approved of my choice in careers."

"I know the feeling," Bradley commiserated.  "I hadn't spoken to my father in seven years.  He thought I should have greater ambitions.  I guess he didn't think much of insurance adjusters."

"So what are you doing in Denver?"  Ezra said, changing the subject.  Dwight Hanford, Bradley's father, was an uncomfortable subject for both of them.

"I have some business at our Denver branch for the next few weeks," Bradley explained.  "I thought I'd drop by for a visit, considering I haven't seen you for nearly two years."

"Has it been that long?" Ezra asked, trying to recall the last time he had seen his cousin.  They had kept in touch sporadically over the years, getting together whenever they had a chance.  Ezra had always looked forward to seeing his cousin, since Bradley was one of very few people who truly understood what his life had been like.  Despite his being a fairly distant relation, he had been someone Ezra could count as a true friend. 

"Yep," Bradley said with a chuckle.  "You still had your arm in a sling from getting shot on that case... the one with the Chinese drug dealers that you told me about, remember?"

"Yes, I remember," Ezra said with a grimace.  "That one was quite unpleasant."

"I don't know how you do it," Bradley said, a hint of wonder in his voice.  "I'd never be able to get so close to criminals like that."  He shuddered for emphasis.  "It gives me the creeps just thinking about it."

Ezra grinned at him.  "It's one of the only legitimate uses for my god-given talents."

"I guess you're right about that," Bradley laughed.  "I remember the time you conned old man Olsen out of a whole bag of candy from his store by pretending you were scared of that old mutt of his.  Hell, that old fleabag wouldn't have hurt a fly."

"One of my earliest triumphs," Ezra said proudly.  "It was quite an accomplishment for an eight-year-old, if I do say so myself."

"That it was."

"Would you care to join me for brunch?"  Ezra asked.  "There's a lovely restaurant just a few minutes from here."

"I'd love to," Bradley agreed.

"Good," Ezra said with a smile.  "I'll go get ready."

* * * * * * * * * * 

Ezra made his way to the elevator, humming cheerfully.  He and Bradley had spent most of the previous day together, reminiscing about some of the good times they had enjoyed together as children.  He had been eight years old when Maude had left him with his Aunt Edna for the summer.  The elderly woman had died suddenly of a heart attack during the second week of his stay and Maude, of course, was nowhere to be found.  Ezra had been left in the custody of Bradley's father – Maude's distant cousin – who had made the funeral arrangements for Aunt Edna.  

Thoughts of Dwight Hanford dimmed his cheerful mood as Ezra remembered the stern, older man.  Hanford hadn't seemed to mind taking responsibility for a young boy, but, as Ezra later discovered, he was primarily interested in another pair of hands to work on his farm.  

Bradley was older than Ezra by two years and had taken an immediate liking to his worldly cousin, listening with rapt fascination as Ezra told him about all the places he had traveled and the European schools he had attended.  For Ezra, it had been a pleasant surprise to find a friend in the unsettling situation.  Bradley had helped him learn to do the chores that were expected of him, since he knew firsthand the perils of displeasing his father.  

The elder Hanford had been a harsh taskmaster, expecting a full day's work from each of the boys.  He had little tolerance for mistakes or 'tomfoolery', as he called their occasional attempts to make their chores more entertaining.  Unused to the kinds of tasks he was expected to perform, Ezra had found himself on the wrong end of the man's hand often during his first few weeks at the farm.  More than once he had gone to bed with an aching backside and an empty stomach because Dwight had been displeased with his efforts.  It had been Bradley's patient instruction that had finally allowed him to avoid the strict man's wrath.

Ezra smiled.  He had had very few friends as a child, but Bradley had been one of them.  His cousin had been the only good part of a decidedly unpleasant summer.  Bad situations were always more bearable when there was someone to share the burden.  He was still smiling when he entered the offices of Team Seven.

"Good morning, Mr. Tanner," he greeted Vin as he dropped his briefcase on his desk.

Vin eyed him suspiciously.  "What's goin' on?"

"Whatever do you mean?"  Ezra tilted his head, puzzled at Vin's odd reaction.

"You're way too happy for a Monday morning," Vin proclaimed, folding his hands across his chest.  "What're you up to?"

"I'm not 'up to' anything, Mr. Tanner," Ezra said, shaking his head in amusement.  "I simply had an enjoyable weekend."

"Uh-huh," Vin said, not sounding convinced.

Ezra rolled his eyes as he hung his coat on the coat rack.  He wasn't _that_ bad on Monday mornings.  "How was your weekend, Mr. Tanner?"

Vin shrugged.  "Nothin' special."  He was about to press Ezra for more details about his weekend activities, when Buck and JD entered the room in their typically noisy fashion.

"Hey, Vin," Buck called cheerily.  "Hey, Ez.  You're here early."

"Not that early, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra countered.  "You are simply later than usual."

Buck rolled his eyes, while JD snickered and elbowed his roommate in the ribs.  "See, I told you your watch was wrong."

Buck cuffed his young friend on the head and shoved him toward the break room.  "Come on, kid.  I need some caffeine."

Josiah and Nathan entered the bullpen carrying their own mugs of coffee.

"Good morning, brothers," Josiah called cheerily.  

Nathan nodded in greeting, sipping carefully at his coffee as he took his seat.  "Hey, guys."

Buck and JD had just returned with their respective beverages – coffee for Buck and Coke for JD – when Chris stepped out of his office, clearing his throat to get their attention.  "Everyone into the conference room.  We have a new case."

The room filled with the sound of mumbling and shuffling paper as the six men filed into the conference room behind their leader, taking their usual seats and waiting expectantly for Chris to begin.  

"It seems that we have a new player in town,"  Chris began.  "Someone is shopping for a large quantity of weapons and explosives.  The details on the buyers are vague at this point and it isn't much more than a rumor on the streets, but Travis and the suits upstairs are concerned enough to bring us in to investigate."

"Do they have any idea who's doin' the askin'?"  Vin asked.

"No," Chris said with a sigh.  "That's what they need us to find out.  All they have so far is the shopping list that hit the streets in the last few days.  They're worried about the amount of goods being requested.  They're figuring it's an out-of-state group, since the rumors seemed to just come out of nowhere and they haven't been able to trace it to any known players."

Buck whistled as he read the briefing sheet.  "Damn, they could outfit a small army with this much stuff."

"Indeed, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra agreed.  "This is quite a laundry list of hardware."

"M-16's, Uzi's, handguns, M-14's..." Josiah read aloud.

"Sniper rifles?" Vin commented.  "That can't be good."

"Yep," Buck agreed.  "We used those when we were in the Seals.  I'd hate to see the bad guys getting their hands on them."

"Hell, they're even looking for rocket launchers and explosives," Nathan commented disgustedly.  

"Sounds like they want to start a war," JD said.

"Perhaps one of our favorite crime organizations is planning for some offensive action?" Ezra offered.

"Or maybe a terrorist group is doing some shopping," Vin suggested grimly.

"Anything's possible at this point," Chris said with a shrug.  "We need to get out there and start checking our sources."  He looked at each of his men in turn.  "Talk to your snitches and check with any contacts you have in the police or other law enforcement agencies.  Maybe someone has heard about similar large weapons purchases or inquiries in other parts of the country."

"If they've got the kind of money it takes to buy this much stuff, then it's likely that someone knows who they are," Josiah said thoughtfully.

"The dealers are gonna be fallin' all over themselves tryin' to hook up with these guys," Vin added.  "They ain't gonna want to pass up that kind of cash."

"They will probably be rather tight-lipped about any potential deals, however," Ezra pointed out.  "They become quite territorial over deals of this size and it may prove difficult to pry any information out of them."

Chris gave them a predatory grin.  "_That_ is why they called us in."

"Yeah," Buck boasted.  "We are the best, after all."

"Okay, ladies.  Enough discussion."  Chris surveyed his team once more.  "It's time to earn our reputation."

The men stood and left the room.  Vin, Josiah, Ezra, and Buck immediately grabbed their coats and headed out to hit the streets, while JD, Nathan, and Chris started on the phones and the computer.  Team Seven was on the job.

* * * * * * * * * * 

A loud knock on his door intruded suddenly on the silence in Chris's office, startling him momentarily.  "Come in," he called, curious as to who was interrupting his work, since most of his men wouldn't have bothered to knock on the door before opening it.  

The man who stepped into his office sported a precise haircut and was dressed in a plain gray pinstripe suit, white shirt, and conservative navy blue tie with red stripes that just screamed 'FBI' to Chris.  He looked to be about the same age as Chris and stood ramrod straight in front of the ATF team leader's desk until he was asked to sit.  Chris gestured toward the guest chair, smiling inwardly at the level of formality that most FBI agents he had met seemed to display.  It was no wonder a maverick like Standish had never quite fit in.

"Agent Larabee?" the man began, rousing Chris from his reverie.  "I'm Special Agent Paul Farrell, FBI."

"What can I do for you, Agent Farrell?"  Chris asked calmly.

Farrell shifted uncomfortably in his seat, aware of the reputation of this man and his team, and knowing that Larabee wasn't going to like what he had to say.  "I, uh, have a rather delicate matter that requires your attention."  He lifted the folder he was carrying and opened it, retrieving several photographs.  "I believe you recognize the man on the right."

Chris took the photo and frowned.  It was a picture of Ezra Standish, smiling and shaking hands with a slightly taller blond man in front of his condo.  The rest of the photos showed the two men having lunch or standing together next to Ezra's Jaguar.  He regarded Agent Farrell coolly.

"Why are you watching my agent?" 

"We weren't watching him," Farrell replied.  "It's the other guy we have under surveillance."

"What for?"

"His name is Bradley Hanford.  He runs the Brotherhood for a Pure America, a radical white supremacist group," Farrell explained.  "He used to be very active in the KKK and Aryan Nation, but apparently they weren't militant enough for him."

"You sure it's the same guy," Chris asked doubtfully, nodding toward the pictures.

"It's him," Farrell said confidently.  "We followed him here from St. Louis."

Chris sighed and rubbed his eyes.  His undercover agent was the biggest magnet for trouble he had ever encountered in all his years in law enforcement.  "And now you want to know why he was seen with Agent Standish."

Farrell nodded.  "We've heard rumors that Hanford might be here looking to buy weapons and we didn't want to step on any toes if your guy was undercover."

"When were these taken?"

"Yesterday," Farrell said.

Chris groaned inwardly, but maintained his cool facade.  "As far as I know, Agent Standish isn't undercover."  He held up his hand to forestall the inevitable questions.  "But, that doesn't mean he's not working on something.  He has a habit of doing his own thing."

"So I've heard," Farrell said with a frown.  "Tell me, Agent Larabee.  Do you trust Standish?"

Chris felt the anger building inside of him, but restrained himself.  "You have a lot of nerve asking me that," he said icily.

"Standish does have a reputation,"  Farrell said pointedly.

"All I care about is the work he does for me," Chris retorted.  "And that has been nothing but exemplary since he's been here."

"Ten months isn't a very long time to get to know someone," Farrell pressed.

"Long enough," Chris replied, a warning tone in his voice.

Farrell was smart enough not to push Chris any further.  He had no desire to be on the receiving end of the man's infamous temper.

"What else have you got on this guy?" Chris asked, wanting to know more about this man with whom Ezra appeared so friendly.

"You can keep this stuff.  I've got more copies," Farrell said as he handed his folder to Chris, who opened it and began perusing the information inside.  He came upon several more photos of Hanford, some dating back many years.  One in particular caught his attention.  A young boy, identified as Hanford, stood next to a group of men clad in white KKK robes, cheering and lifting his fist in support, while a cross burned in the background.  It was the boy standing next to him that had garnered Chris's interest, however.  He recognized Ezra from some old family pictures the undercover agent had shown him one night when Chris had driven him home from the hospital after he had broken his arm during a bust.  The pain medication had weakened his defenses and made him more talkative than usual.  He had dragged out the slim photo album while Chris was still there, showing him the few pictures he had of his childhood.  

Chris sighed in resignation.  The boy in this photo was definitely Ezra Standish.  He stood next to Hanford, seemingly ignoring the crowd behind him as he held out a white pointed hood, looking at it curiously.  Chris felt his heart drop to his stomach.

"What is it?"  Farrell asked, noticing his unusual interest in the picture.

"Nothing," Chris said, shuffling the pictures as he tried to cover his lapse, but it was too late.

Farrell grabbed the picture in question and stared at it for a minute before his eyes widened in surprise.  "I'll be damned!  It's Standish, isn't it?"  He looked at Chris for confirmation.

"I don't know," Chris said, disgusted with himself for being so transparent.

"The son of a bitch is in on it!" Farrell continued excitedly.  "No wonder we've had such a hard time getting this guy.  He's been getting inside information from Standish and keeping one step ahead of us."

"You'd better have proof before you go around making any accusations, Agent Farrell," Chris said, turning his glare on full blast.  "Nobody maligns one of my agents without the evidence to back it up."

Farrell flinched under the piercing gaze, but maintained his confident air.  "Tell me, how does Agent Standish get along with Agent Jackson?"  Farrell smiled smugly, already aware of the fractious relationship the two shared.  "He had a problem working for a black supervisor once... an agent named Watson, if I remember correctly.  Didn't treat him with any respect whatsoever.  I guess he doesn't like to take orders from someone who isn't white."  

"That's enough, Farrell," Chris warned.  "Ezra is not that kind of person and I'll stand behind him all the way."

"You may have to," Farrell warned.  He paused at the door.  "Just so you know, we'll be keeping him under surveillance from now on.  I'd advise you not to interfere."

"And I'd advise you to get your ass out of my office before I throw you out," Chris said, his calm voice belying his desire to throttle the man standing in front of him.

Farrell smirked and gave Chris a sarcastic salute before walking out the door.  Chris stared at the closed door for a moment after he left before lowering his head onto his arms.  He was going to have a serious talk with Ezra when he returned.

* * * * * * * * * * 

A few minutes after Farrell had left, there was another, more tentative knock on his door.  Chris lifted his head as Nathan opened the door and stepped inside.  

"Everything okay, Chris?"  Nathan asked sincerely.  "I heard some yelling...."

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.  "We may have a problem."  He handed the folder containing the photos and information he had received from Agent Farrell to Nathan and waited as the other man quickly scanned them.  Chris knew the moment Nathan encountered the KKK rally photo by the frown on his face.

"What does Ezra have to do with this?" Nathan asked when he was through.

"I don't know yet," Chris said with a sigh.  "The FBI has been tracking Bradley Hanford for a long time.  There's a possibility he might be our new buyer in town.  Those pictures with Ez were taken yesterday."  He paused and ran a hand through his sandy hair.  "Except for that one with the rally."

Nathan's brow furrowed.  "What do you mean?"

Chris took the folder and removed the photo, pointing to Hanford.  "This is Hanford," he said, then moved his finger.  "This is Ezra."

Nathan was silent for a moment, then looked at Chris with a hard gleam in his eyes.  "I knew it!  That bigoted son of a bitch!  Now I know why he was so much against affirmative action."  Nathan remembered the argument clearly.  He had commented to his teammates that there didn't seem to be many people of color employed by the ATF and the discussion had turned to affirmative action programs, which he supported.  Ezra, on the other hand, had taken the opposite view, claiming that such measures were nothing more than reverse discrimination that promoted unqualified individuals into positions they didn't deserve.  After several minutes of heated argument, Nathan had given up in disgust, knowing that Ezra would only manage to twist his words around until they suited his purpose.  Now, though, it appeared there was a repugnant reason for his views.

"Nathan, he's just a kid in this photo.  It doesn't necessarily make him a bigot anymore than his views on affirmative action," Chris argued.  

Nathan ignored him.  "I can't believe this got past the security checks."

"We don't know the whole story," Chris said calmly, trying to placate the angry agent.  "I'm going to talk to him when he gets back.  Don't jump to any conclusions, okay?"

Nathan stared at him, then nodded sharply.  "All right, but I'm not working with him if I don't like his answers.  I've had to work with racist assholes before, and I'm not going to put up with that crap again."  

"I don't think any of us would disagree with you on that."  

"You gonna tell the rest of the guys?"

"Yeah, as soon as they all get back."   The phone rang, interrupting their conversation.  "Larabee," Chris answered.

Nathan watched as the expression on his leader's face grew darker.  

"Sir, I don't think that's a good idea," Chris said tightly, frowning even more deeply at the reply.  "I don't care what the FBI thinks!"  A storm of emotions rolled across Chris's face and finally, with his teeth clenched tightly, he said, "I understand, sir."

Nathan waited patiently as Chris hung up the phone, knowing that he had not received good news.

"Goddamn it!" Chris cursed.  "That was Travis," he said, looking up at Nathan.  "We can't discuss this situation with Ezra.  Seems the FBI thinks it's better to keep him in the dark and under surveillance."

"Travis is letting the Feebs call the shots?"

"He has no choice," Chris replied.  "Farrell thought we wouldn't be cooperative, so he complained to the higher-ups and they got Travis to keep us out of the way."  Chris's disgust with the situation was plain on his face.

"Maybe it's for the best," Nathan offered.  "If Ezra is in league with these guys, it will be easier to catch them if he doesn't know we're on to him."

Chris eyed the dark agent steadily.  "You really think he's one of them?"

Nathan hesitated a moment, before shrugging his shoulders.  "Probably.  It's no secret that he ain't my favorite person, but... hell, you saw the pictures and you heard the arguments.  I just don't know him well enough to believe he ain't part of this."  

_And that's the problem_, Chris thought to himself as Nathan left his office.  None of them knew Ezra very well, despite the fact that he had been part of their team for nearly ten months.  He had recently become much more open in the workplace and had gradually gained the trust of the rest of the team, but they knew little about his personal life.  The man kept that part of himself separate, not allowing them inside the protective walls he had built up after years of disillusionment.  A casual observer wouldn't notice it, but the Ezra Standish with whom Team Seven interacted on a daily basis was just another mask the undercover agent wore.  

It had only been two weeks earlier that Ezra had finally, albeit reluctantly, accepted an invitation to go fishing with them for the weekend.  Chris smiled as he remembered the surprise on everyone's faces when they discovered that Ezra actually knew which end of the fishing pole was which and managed to catch more fish than any of them.  It proved how little they actually knew about the man.  

Recently, there had been signs that the enigmatic agent was beginning to open up more, giving them glimpses of the real man behind the mask.  Chris knew Ezra had been burned before by his former FBI co-workers and he was glad to see the man finally beginning to show them some trust.  But this situation had the potential to destroy that trust if it turned out that Ezra wasn't guilty of anything more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Chris sighed, wondering why everything involving Ezra Standish had to be so complicated.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Chris gazed somberly at the men gathered in Team One's conference room.  All of his team had returned, except for Ezra, and Chris had ushered them all to the conference room on the next floor to discuss the recent turn of events.  He was thankful, for once, that Ezra was always the last to arrive.

"What's up, Chris?" asked Buck, concerned by the expression on Chris's face.  "Why are we meeting in here?"

"Yeah, what's wrong with our own conference room?" Vin grumbled.

"We may have gotten a line on our buyer," he began, passing around copies of Hanford's picture.  "Meet Bradley Hanford, head of the Brotherhood for a Pure America.  They're a group of militant white supremacists based in Missouri.  The FBI informed us of his presence here in our fair city."

"I get a feeling there's more," Josiah said, eyeing Chris knowingly.

"You could say that," Nathan said with a snort.

The group turned expectantly to Chris, who sighed and passed around a second set of photos, showing Ezra and Hanford.

"This one was taken yesterday by the FBI's surveillance team." Chris watched as the confusion flashed across their faces.

"What the hell?" Buck said with a frown.  "What's Ez doing with this guy?"

"I suspect that is the sixty-four thousand dollar question," Josiah said with a sigh.

"Maybe Ez found out about him on his own," JD offered with a shrug.

"Looks like they know each other," Buck said.

"It gets worse," Nathan said.  Turning to Chris, he said, "Show them."

Chris said nothing as he handed copies of the KKK rally photo around the table.  "The kid on the right is Hanford.  The one in the center holding the hood is Ezra."

"How do you know that?" asked Vin.

Chris rubbed a hand over his forehead.  "I saw some pictures Ez had of when he was a kid that time I drove him home from the hospital.  He had the photo album out and showed it to me.  I recognized him when Farrell, the FBI guy, showed me the picture."

Buck looked at him skeptically.  "Ez showed you his photo album?"

Chris shrugged.  "He was pretty stoned on pain medication."

"Damn," Josiah said.

"Yeah," Chris agreed.  

"How come nobody caught on to this before?" Buck asked.

"That's what I want to know," Nathan said.  "Pretty sloppy job on background checks, if you ask me."

"What are you sayin'?" Vin demanded.

"I'm sayin' that somebody should have picked up Ezra's connection to these bastards before now," Nathan said hotly.

"Those pictures don't prove anythin'," Vin said defensively.  "All it means is that he's known the guy for a long time."

"Come on, Vin," Nathan said.  "You think Ez could know the guy for that long without knowing about involvement with white supremacists?"

"Yeah, I do," Vin said stubbornly.  "Ez ain't a racist and he wouldn't hang around with one if he knew about it."

"These pictures do tell quite a story, Vin," Josiah contended. 

"Well, I don't care," JD said, folding his arms across his chest.  "I don't believe it either."

"Why don't we just ask Ezra?" Josiah said, attempting to placate the two younger agents.

"We can't," Chris said.  "We've been ordered to keep this under our hats.  Seems the FBI talked the suits upstairs into keeping us out of the way while they put Ezra and Hanford under surveillance."

"That sucks," Buck said disgustedly.

"The don't want us to 'compromise the investigation'," Chris said sarcastically, his distaste for the situation plain on his face.

"It makes sense," Josiah said reasonably.  "This way, they can't accuse us of hiding the truth."

"I still don't like it," Buck said.  "I don't trust those guys."

"Me neither," Vin said.  "There's nothin' they'd like better than to see Ez take a fall."

"There's nothing we can do about it right now," Chris warned.  "We'll just have to sit tight and make sure we don't tip our hands to Ezra."

"Shouldn't be too hard," Buck said tightly.  "I don't feel much like talking to him right now."

"You got that right," Nathan agreed.

Vin glared at them, while JD shook his head.  Chris watched the discord brewing among his men and frowned.  This case could tear his team apart in more ways than one and he found himself feeling angry with Ezra for once again causing turmoil on his team.

TBC

Comments to: violette@uplinktech.net

* * *


	2. Part 2

  
Black and White  
ATF Universe  
by Violette  


Part 2  
  


* * *

Ezra returned to the office shortly after 7:00 PM, weary from a day of trudging through decrepit neighborhoods tracking down informants, and frustrated at the lack of information he had received for his efforts.  He entered the bullpen, unsurprised to find all of his teammates at their desks despite the lateness of the hour.  He lifted a hand in greeting as he dropped tiredly into his desk chair.

"Gentlemen," he said, stifling a yawn.  "I hope you have had more success in your inquiries than I have."

"Nope," Buck said tersely.

Ezra lifted an eyebrow at the shortness of his response.  None of the others had responded verbally, though he did get shakes of the head from JD and Josiah.  There seemed to be a decided coolness in the air and Ezra shrugged it off, assuming it was simply due to the same type of weariness and frustration he himself was currently feeling.  But when he looked at Nathan, he was shocked at the open hostility on the man's face.  Ezra swiveled his head around slowly, studying the rest of his teammates, and began to note their unusually closed expressions.  As an undercover agent, he was an expert at reading people and his experience was telling him that something was amiss.

Ezra turned his gaze to Vin, who sat at the desk across from him.  "Excuse me, Mr. Tanner," he asked quietly.  "Is there something wrong?"  

Vin looked away from his computer, meeting Ezra's eyes briefly.  "Not that I know of," he replied.  "I'm just pissed that we didn't find out anything today."

The maddeningly unreadable look on the sharpshooter's face didn't tell Ezra anything new, but he had a gut feeling that the man was lying to him.  Schooling his own expression, he smiled sympathetically as he began typing up his notes.  "Yes, I know the feeling."

The silence was beginning to be uncomfortable and Ezra determined that it would be best if he left for the night. He didn't know what was going on, but it was obvious that the others were not going to be forthcoming.  If he had learned one thing from his time with the FBI, it was that it was wise to remove oneself from such situations before they deteriorated.  The look on Nathan's face alone told him that things were not well and Ezra knew that retreat was his best option for the moment, until he could do some clandestine investigating and find out what was causing his teammates' aberrant behavior.  

* * * * * * * * * * 

It was nearly ten o'clock the next morning before Ezra dragged his tired self into the office.  He had hit the streets again shortly after leaving the office, checking with those of his contacts who preferred the evening hours.  The odd behavior of his teammates had left him feeling slightly unsettled and, despite being tired when he finally returned home, he had spent most of the early morning hours snooping through their computers via his remote connection.  

Ezra was more of a computer expert than he let on and knew a few techniques that even JD, their resident computer genius, didn't, but he found nothing that explained their strange reaction to his presence.  Eventually, his exhaustion won out and he collapsed into bed, only to awaken three hours later when his alarm went off.  Still half asleep, he had shut off the annoying device and returned to his interrupted slumber.  Two hours later, Ezra had awakened again, blinking blearily at the clock, then cursing himself for his tardiness.  He hurried through his morning routine and drove as quickly as he dared to the office.  After the previous day's cool reception, he didn't want to do anything that might incite the ill will of his teammates.

"Good morning, Mr. Sanchez," he greeted Josiah, who was standing near the doorway to the break room.

"Ezra," Josiah nodded in greeting.  "Chris wants to see you in his office ASAP."

Ezra groaned.  "Wonderful."  He detoured into the break room and poured himself a cup of coffee.  He was going to need a healthy dose of caffeine in order to deal with an irate Chris Larabee, even if it came in the form of the battery acid that was brewed in the break room.

"Standish!" 

Ezra set his briefcase and coffee on his desk and draped his coat across the back of his chair before turning to face his obviously unhappy superior.  "Yes, Mr. Larabee?"

"My office.  Now."  Chris turned on his heel and strode determinedly into his office.

Straightening his shoulders, Ezra picked up his coffee and followed, wondering what he might have done, other than arriving late.  He closed the door behind him and took a seat in one of the chairs that faced Chris's desk, waiting for whatever reproof or lecture the man had in mind for him this time.

"You're late," Chris said sharply.

Ezra grimaced at the tone of his voice.  It wasn't the first time he had been late.  Far from it, in fact.  But Larabee had never taken such a harsh tone with him over his tardiness before, and Ezra wondered what other reason there might be.  "Yes, Mr. Larabee.  I spent some time speaking with a few of my sources last night.  Some of them are rather nocturnal, you see, and I wasn't able to talk to them during the day."

"Did you find out anything?"

"Not much," Ezra replied.  "Several of them have heard the rumors and one told me that the suppliers have become aware of this new buyer.  I asked them to check around quietly and to let me know if they are able to obtain any more detailed information."

"It's not your problem anymore," Chris said abruptly.  "I have a new assignment for you."

"Oh?"  Ezra eyed the blond man carefully, but could discern nothing from his expression.  

"Team Three has a new undercover agent.  Travis wants you to help with his training.  Show him the ropes, share some of your expertise... you know the drill."  Chris looked at his undercover agent dispassionately.

"Of course," Ezra said uncertainly.  "How long shall this assignment require my participation?"

"At least a week," Chris answered.  "Maybe more.  Travis didn't say."

"I see."  Ezra calmly took a sip of his coffee, wondering at the sense of unease that began to creep along his spine.  He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being removed from Team Seven's current case for an entirely different reason. 

"Get over to Team Three's office right away," Chris ordered.  "They've been waiting for you for more than an hour already."

Ezra simply nodded, tossing off his standard salute, before exiting the office and returning to his desk.

Chris watched the man go, his heart heavy with the deception he was forced to carry out.  There was simply too high a likelihood of a poor outcome from this charade for him to be entirely comfortable with the situation.  If Ezra was indeed an innocent participant in their current case, there was a strong chance he would never forgive them for their lack of trust.  And if he _was_ involved... Chris didn't even want to contemplate that possibility.  He only hoped that when all was said and done, his team would remain intact. 

* * * * * * * * * * 

Ezra sat heavily at his desk and casually glanced around the room at his teammates, frowning when he saw that they were all studiously avoiding his gaze.  They obviously knew about his change of assignment.  Normally, they would be teasing him and making light of the situation, since none of them liked such training assignments, but this time the usual good-natured banter was absent.  It was almost as if they were uncomfortable with his presence.  It struck him as he was gathering up some files that none of them, besides Chris and Josiah, had even spoken to him yet this morning.  He looked up sharply, catching Vin and JD both looking away quickly.  Pasting his poker face into place, Ezra stood and made his way to the elevators.  "Good day, gentlemen," he tossed over his shoulder, not bothering to wait for a reply.

* * * * * * * * * * 

"This sucks," JD said after Ezra had left.  "No way Ezra is one of those... those...."

"Bigots," Josiah supplied.

"Yeah," JD nodded vigorously.  "Ez just ain't like that."

"Lot of racists are real good at hidin' it," Nathan retorted, "and Ezra's a real good actor."

"I don't think he's that good," JD said doubtfully.  "I've never seen him act that way to anyone."

"Don't mean anythin'," Nathan said defensively.  "It's not like he spends much of his free time with us anyway."  

"You can't always be sure about people," Buck agreed sadly.  "Me and Chris worked with a guy named Arthur back when we were with the PD.  Nicest guy around," Buck paused.  "... or so we thought.  One night, he nearly beat a black suspect to death.  He would have, too, if we hadn't stopped him."  Buck shook his head.  "I'll always remember the surprised look on his face when we pulled him away from the suspect.  He looked at me and Chris and said, '_What did you stop me for?  He's just a nigger_.'"  Buck turned to Nathan.  "No offense, Nate."

Nathan nodded his understanding.

"Art didn't think he had done anything wrong," Buck said despondently.  "It really bothered a lot of the guys, since we all really liked him.  We never had a clue that he was so prejudiced."

"I ain't judgin' Ez 'til I see some proof," Vin said quietly.  

Nathan shook his head and walked away.

The remaining four men looked at one another somberly before returning to their work.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Ezra sighed and picked at his salad disinterestedly.  The day hadn't been as bad as he had anticipated.  His training assignment was going well and he was enjoying it more than he thought he would.  Stephen Cardoza was an apt and eager student, albeit with a misguided (in his opinion) case of hero worship.  Ezra snorted when he thought back to their meeting that morning.  

Team Three's leader, Aaron Miller, had introduced him to the new agent.  

_"Stephen, this is Agent Standish, from Team Seven."_

_"Agent Cardoza."  Ezra reached for his hand, receiving a vigorous handshake in response._

_"Agent Standish," Cardoza said enthusiastically.  "I've heard all about you and I studied most of your cases.  Your work is amazing!"_

_Ezra was taken aback by the admiration in the younger man's voice.  He wasn't used to being held in such high esteem.  "I wouldn't call it amazing," he said quickly.  "I merely do what needs to be done."_

_"Don't be so modest, Agent Standish," Cardoza countered.  "From what I hear, you're practically a legend!"_

_Ezra laughed and clapped the young man on the back.  "I try," he said self-deprecatingly, unsure of how else to respond to such praise.  A legend?  Hardly.  Notorious, maybe.  The boy obviously hadn't been around long enough to hear about the darker side of Ezra Standish._

They had spent the afternoon reviewing cases and engaging in some role-playing scenarios, and Ezra had found himself impressed with the new undercover agent's performance.  He still had some rough edges, but Ezra was certain that he would do well with some practice.

While this training assignment was turning out better than expected, Ezra was still disturbed by the situation with his team.  He had returned to his desk to retrieve his things before leaving for the day and was greeted with the same awkward silence as in the morning.  His attempts to start a conversation with his teammates had fallen flat, so he had decided to leave things alone for a while.  Ezra considered that he might simply be paranoid, that maybe he was overreacting to the situation, but his instincts were not usually that incorrect.  Right now, they were sounding warning bells and he had learned the hard way not to ignore them. 

Ezra sighed and gave up on the rest of his dinner.  His appetite had deserted him anyway.  Pouring himself a glass of brandy, he moved toward the French doors that opened onto his balcony, where a clear view of the setting sun was visible.  "Something is indeed rotten in the state of Denmark," he whispered to himself as he sipped the brandy.

Ezra gazed at the darkening landscape and scoured his memory for anything he might have done or said to upset his associates, but found nothing.  He had thought that they were finally beginning to accept him, 'warts and all', as Buck would have said, but their current aloofness told him that this was not the case.  A frown creased his face as an unwelcome thought crossed his mind.  What if the rumors were starting again?  A chill raced down his spine as he remembered what had happened when he was with the FBI.   

When the rumors had begun there, his FBI teammates had acted much like his current associates, ignoring him and giving him dirty looks – the standard cold shoulder treatment.  It had escalated from there into pointed comments and nasty practical jokes, like letting the air out of all four of his tires or 'accidentally' spilling food on his expensive suit jackets.  As it spread further, Ezra got more and more undesirable assignments until he was doing nothing but the shit jobs no one else wanted.  Ezra's jaw clenched as he noted the similarities.  History appeared to be repeating itself and, once again, he was powerless to stop it.  

* * * * * * * * * * 

"Chris!  I think we got a break,"  Buck said as he burst into Chris's office.  

"What's up?" Chris asked calmly, used to Buck's excitability.

"I just talked to one of my sources..." he paused.  "You remember Little Jimmy, don't you?"

Chris nodded.  Little Jimmy was hard to forget, since, at six-foot-five and three hundred and fifty pounds, there was nothing 'little' about him. "What have you got?"

"Jimmy heard that a buy is going down Thursday night with Tony Arbella and his boys," Buck answered.  "He hangs out with some of Arbella's bodyguards and one of them did some talking after a few too many drinks."

"Any idea when and where?"

"No exact time, but he said the deal was going down behind Arbella's produce warehouse sometime that night,"  Buck finished.

"You think it's our buyer?" Chris asked skeptically.

"Probably," Buck replied.  "Jimmy said the bodyguard was impressed with the size of the deal, so there's a good chance it's them."  

Chris tapped his pen thoughtfully on the edge of his desk.  "Okay, you fill the guys in.  I'm going to let Travis know.  We'll probably get Team Two for backup, since they're not working on anything big right now.  Tell the guys we'll meet in the conference room later to discuss the plans."

"Will do," Buck said with a grin, looking forward to some action.  

"Oh, and Buck?"  Chris called to the retreating agent.

"Yeah?"  

"Make sure that none of you tell Ezra what's going on," Chris said, a pained expression on his face.

Buck's expression hardened, but he nodded his consent.  

Chris sighed after Buck left, hating what he had to do, but it was best for all concerned to keep Ezra out of the picture for the time being.  He lifted the phone and began making his calls.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Smothering a yawn, Ezra made his way silently down the hall to his team's office.  Agent Cardoza had insisted upon taking him out for drinks after work and Ezra had reluctantly complied, not wanting to disappoint the other man or insult him by refusing his invitation.  It was now well past ten o'clock and he was planning only to pick up his briefcase and head home to bed.  He hadn't slept well the night before and it was catching up with him.  

As he entered the bullpen, he was surprised to find the lights still on and his teammates' belongings still scattered on their desks.  Ezra stepped further into the office, spying the light escaping from beneath the closed door to the conference room.  He paused for a moment, then crept silently to the door, pressing his ear against it carefully.

"... so Vin, you'll be up on this corner of the roof.  Ron Thompson will be on the other corner," Chris said.

"Are those the only high spots?"  Vin asked. 

"Yeah.  The produce building has a huge loading dock and parking lot back there," Chris replied.

"Where will I be?" asked Buck.

"You'll be at this spot here," Chris said,  "... behind the dumpsters."

"Aw hell," Buck replied, amidst the snickers of the rest of the men.

"That ought to put a damper on your animal magnetism, Buck," JD snickered.

"Shut up," Buck replied unhappily.

"So, everyone clear on your positions?" asked Chris.

Ezra heard a chorus of affirmatives through the door.

"Good," Chris answered.  "Between us and Team Two, Arbella and his customers have nowhere to go."

Ezra frowned as he pulled away from the door, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping.  As he retreated to his desk, he mulled over what he had heard.  He was familiar with Tony Arbella.  The man was a known arms dealer, and a very good one at that, since he had not yet been caught.  No one had been able to get enough evidence on his activities to arrest him.  Now, though, it appeared that there was a bust going down.  Why hadn't he been informed?  Unless the others had just heard about it and were waiting until morning to fill him in?  Ezra picked up his briefcase and headed for the elevator, ignoring the little voice inside his head that told him otherwise.  Morning would bring the truth, one way or another.

* * * * * * * * * * 

The knot in his stomach tightened as Ezra stepped off of the elevator.  He had slept badly again the previous night, and his head was beginning to pound from the lack of sleep and worry about what was going on with his associates.  Today would tell him for sure whether or not he was being intentionally left out of his team's current case – something he wasn't sure he really wanted to know.  The cynical side of him was certain he already knew the answer, and as Ezra made his way down the hall to his team's offices, he hoped for all he was worth that he would be proven wrong for once.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Ezra greeted his teammates with a cheer he didn't feel.

"Mornin', Ez," JD answered.

Ezra shed his coat and sat at his desk, rifling through his briefcase for his notes while sipping his favorite coffee from Starbuck's.  "How goes the investigation?"  he asked in a conversational tone, feigning interest in the papers before him.

"Uh, not good," JD said hesitantly.  "We haven't made any progress yet."

Ezra saw Vin and Buck nodding in agreement.

"I see," Ezra said nonchalantly, firming up his poker face to hide the disappointment that was flooding through him.  "Well, that's too bad."

He stood, clutching his folder in his hand.  "I must be going.  My protégé awaits."  Stifling a yawn behind his hand, Ezra walked stiffly to the door.  "I hope you have better luck today, Mr. Dunne, gentlemen."

That was it, then, Ezra thought glumly as he leaned against the rear wall of the elevator.  They were intentionally keeping him away from the investigation and the forthcoming bust.  There was only one reason he could think of that would cause his teammates to do such a thing: they were afraid he would compromise the operation.  

Ezra shook his head, wondering what sort of scurrilous rumor was going around this time that would cause his team to doubt him.  He had begun to enjoy the mutual trust of his co-workers, especially after having spent so much time without it.  During his time with the FBI, he had known that the only person looking out for his safety was Ezra Standish.  Since taking his position with Team Seven, though, he had come to enjoy the pleasant security of having someone else watch his back for a change.  

Even before the rumors of his corruption had started, Ezra had not been well-liked by most of his FBI associates.  It had always bewildered him, since he never understood what it was about him that people disliked so much.  He knew he was inexperienced with friendship, not having had the opportunity to forge many of them throughout his life, and he had become convinced that it simply was not in the cards for him.  His loner tendencies had kept most people at bay, and when the rumors had begun, he found there was no one standing at his back or by his side.  It wasn't until he had met these men that Ezra had begun to learn what trust was all about and that the possibility of real friendship actually existed for him.  

Rumors.  Ezra shook his head in disgust.  The talk about him had started long before his mother had gifted him with the Jaguar.  The snide remarks about his expensive clothing had indicated that his FBI associates were suspicious of him, even in the beginning.  They had never bothered to ask – and he wasn't sure he would have told them if they had – where he got the clothes.  The fact that he wore expensive designer suits on a daily basis, and not just when he was undercover, had been enough to convince them that he was corrupt.  

"Something else to thank Mother for," he muttered to himself.  Maude insisted upon sending him packages of designer clothing several times a year and Ezra was convinced it was simply to spare herself the embarrassment of witnessing her only child dressed in anything she considered unsatisfactory, especially since she had never once asked for his opinion or consent.  He simply accepted the clothing graciously, knowing how useless it was to argue with the force of nature that was his mother.  

Ezra had thought that he had made enough progress for his teammates to trust him when it came to his job.  It was the one area of his life in which he had real confidence and, as such, he would never do anything to jeopardize it.  Despite the fact that many found his morals to be lacking – Nathan Jackson, in particular – Ezra had certain principles that he would never compromise, not the least of which was his dedication to his job and to his co-workers.  Unfortunately, it was also the one area where his loyalty was always called into question.  And that was what hurt the most.

The elevator door opened, rousing Ezra from his reverie.  With a sigh, he forced a smile onto his face and stepped forward, determinedly pushing the dark thoughts from his mind.  He had a job to do.

* * * * * * * * * * 

"He knows something's up," Vin stated quietly.

"What?"  Buck asked, turning his head toward the sharpshooter.

"Ezra," he continued.  "He knows there's somethin' goin' on."

"How do you know?" asked JD curiously.  "He didn't act any different than usual."

"No, but I could see it in his eyes," Vin said flatly.  "His face was smilin', but his eyes weren't."

"Why didn't he say anything, then?"  JD queried.

"He probably figures he's better off not knowing," Josiah said with a sigh.  "I get the impression he's used to being on the outside."

"You think it's going to be a problem?" asked Chris, joining the conversation.

"I doubt it," Josiah replied.  "Brother Ezra isn't one to make waves.  His pride won't let him react in such an 'undignified' manner."

"I hope you're right," Chris said doubtfully.  "It's not a good time for him to make trouble."

"Is it ever?"  Nathan said with a snort.

"No, but right now we don't need to be giving the FBI any more ammunition," Chris said.  "I have a feeling those bastards are out to get him, guilty or not."  There were some things that he hadn't told the rest of the team; things Ezra had told him in drugged confidence the same night he had shed light on his past by sharing his small photo album with his boss.  

Chris hadn't believed it at first when his undercover agent had told him in a slurred whisper that his cover had been deliberately compromised by one of his own associates during his last operation with the FBI.  To Chris, it was inconceivable to turn on your own in such a way, and he had told Ezra just that.  The younger man had just given him a sad smile, saying that rules like that simply didn't apply to him.  

Chris had refused to argue with the man in his semi-coherent state, but curiosity and a nagging sense of unease had refused to go away until he had looked into the matter.  What he had found hadn't proved Ezra's claim, but left him feeling troubled by the incident nonetheless.  Later discussions with the recalcitrant agent had not garnered him any new information, since Ezra had flatly refused to talk about it, claiming he must have been babbling nonsensically while under the influence of the medication.  But Chris had seen a momentary flash of fear in Ezra's eyes before that formidable poker face had shuttered his emotions once again and vowed he would do whatever it took to earn the man's trust.  No one should have to go through life with such a fear of mistrust and betrayal.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Buck watched the emotions flash across his oldest friend's face and didn't for a moment envy him his position.  Being forced to lie to, and possibly betray, one of his men went against everything that Chris Larabee stood for and it was only his respect for Orrin Travis that kept him from telling the FBI where to stick it.  Buck was hoping that Ezra was innocent of any wrongdoing, primarily because he liked the slick undercover agent.  The man had a wicked sense of humor, on the rare occasions that he allowed it to escape, and Buck wanted to see what that scathing wit would do to the hapless FBI agents if they were proven wrong.  

But that didn't seem to be the likely outcome.  Things didn't look good for Standish, and he felt his anger building toward the younger man for causing Chris such distress.  It had taken a long time for Chris to start living again and Buck hated to see anything bring pain to his friend's face again.  He only hoped that the situation was resolved quickly, before anyone got hurt.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Ezra made himself scarce for the rest of the day, keeping his mind busy by focusing diligently on his training assignment.  It went without saying that he was still going to lose sleep over the situation, since he had no such distractions when he was home alone in his bed, but for now, all he could do was perform his assigned task to the best of his ability and avoid the rest of his team.  Ezra had long since learned the futility of worrying about things over which he had no control, but it didn't make it any easier to take.  Whether it was being handed off to a new relative or boarding school every few months, or being bombarded with rumors and accusations from his FBI counterparts, he had always had that control taken away from him... and now it was happening again.

Ezra sighed as he drove home, thankful that he had been able to retrieve his coat and briefcase from his desk without encountering his teammates.  The rest of his team had, once again, gathered in the conference room to discuss the bust that was to take place, and he had picked up his things and beat a hasty retreat before any of them became aware of his presence.  He had had enough stress that day and had not wanted to add to the burden with any more uncomfortable confrontations.

As he pulled into his driveway, Ezra noticed an unfamiliar car sitting across the street, with two figures seated inside.  He stepped out of the Jaguar and was about to investigate when a friendly voice behind him drew his attention.

"Ezra!"  Bradley greeted him cheerfully.

"Bradley."  Ezra returned his cousin's handshake with a smile, his mood brightening.  "I wasn't expecting you."

"I know," Bradley said with a shrug.  "I got done early today and I was hoping you'd know a good place to get some dinner."

"That I do."  Ezra's grin widened.  Dinner with a friend was just what he needed to dispel his melancholy mood.  

"Good, 'cause I'm getting really tired of Big Macs and Whoppers," Bradley said, clapping him on the shoulder.

After a quick stop in Ezra's apartment to drop off his briefcase, the two men climbed into the Jaguar and headed off to dinner.  Ezra glanced across the street before he left, noting that the car he had seen earlier was gone.  Shrugging it off as a result of the stress of recent days, he drove to the restaurant, determined to have a pleasant evening.

****

TBC

* * *


	3. Part 3

  
Black and White  
ATF Universe  
by Violette   


Part 3  
  


* * *

His mouth was full of cotton.  Ezra opened one eye and glared at his clock radio, which continued to chirp merrily away, adding to the throbbing in his skull.  Lifting a leaden arm, he swiped at the clock, slapping it into submission.  Nothing would have made him happier than to shut his eyes and return to blessed slumber, but the uncomfortable pressure in his bladder made that impossible.  With a groan, Ezra levered himself out of bed, stumbling sleepily toward the bathroom to answer the call of nature.  

Though he seriously debated returning to the comfort of his bed, Ezra decided things were troubled enough in his life without angering Larabee needlessly with further tardiness.  Instead, he stripped off his pajamas and stepped into the shower, closing his eyes as the warm water sluiced over his body.  

After dinner the previous night, he and Bradley had returned to Ezra's condo, where Bradley had produced a bottle of excellent cognac from his rental car.  They had stayed up until the wee hours sharing the fine liquor as they talked.  Ezra didn't remember having that much to drink, but based on the size of his hangover, he must have gotten a bit carried away.  He grinned to himself.  Leave it to Bradley to find some especially potent spirits. 

An hour later, his headache somewhat subdued by aspirin and caffeine, Ezra dragged himself into the office, barely glancing at his teammates as he made his way to his desk.  He dropped tiredly into his chair and closed his eyes, massaging his temples briefly before removing his coat and heading to the break room for some much-needed coffee.  He was going to need more than the usual one cup of Starbuck's to wake him up this day.

"Good morning, brother," Josiah said quietly as Ezra reached for the coffee pot.

"If you say so," Ezra said with a grunt.

"Are you feeling all right?"  the big man asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

"I am quite fine, thank you, Mr. Sanchez," Ezra replied flatly.  "Merely a bit of overindulgence last night."

Josiah frowned.  "Any reason you're drinking in the middle of the week?"

Ezra tossed him a frosty look.  "Not that it's any of your business, but an old friend is in town and we shared an excellent bottle of cognac."

Josiah chuckled.  "Only you would get drunk on cognac, Ezra."

"It _was_ very good," Ezra said with a trace of a smile as he headed back to his desk.

Josiah's expression turned serious as he watched the younger man retreat from the break room.  He hoped Ezra's 'old friend' was not going to get him into trouble.

* * * * * * * * * *

The day passed quickly, despite his hangover, and Ezra eventually found himself making the dreaded trip back to his office to gather his things.  He had been able to keep his mind off of his teammates all day, but now, all of his worries and concerns pushed their way to the forefront of his thoughts.  Squaring his shoulders, he strode casually into the bullpen, stopping short at the emptiness that greeted him.  

They were gone.  Their coats and briefcases were still in place, but they were nowhere to be found.  Ezra checked the conference room and break room, but the silence confirmed it.  Then it occurred to him: the bust must be taking place now.  He felt a small kernel of hope building.  Maybe, once this operation was finished, things would return to normal... well, as normal as things could ever be where Team Seven was concerned.  But the cynical, nagging voice in his head whispered, _Don't count on it._

* * * * * * * * * *

"What now?" Vin asked, stifling a yawn.  It was nearly six in the morning and they had finally called it a night and returned to the office.  The bad guys had never showed up at the warehouse.  

"Now we find out what went wrong," Chris said grimly.

"I'm gonna see if I can get in touch with Little Jimmy," Buck said.  "Maybe he knows why they called it off."

"You think you'll find him at this hour?"

Buck's shoulders slumped.  "Probably not."

"Why don't you all go home and get some sleep," Chris said.  "Come back here after lunch.  We can get back on it then."

"That sounds great," Nathan said sleepily as he shrugged into his jacket.  "I'll see y'all later."

"You can crash at my place, Chris," Buck offered.  "No sense you driving out all that way just for a few hours."

Chris nodded.  "I'll be along in a few minutes."

Buck and JD plodded tiredly out the door, followed by Josiah and Vin,  but Chris stayed behind for a few minutes, sending out a couple of emails before leaving himself.  He paused for a moment when he passed Ezra's desk, frowning at the unpleasant thoughts that crossed his mind.  He shook his head and continued down the hall.  There was time enough for speculation later.

* * * * * * * * * *

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Ezra found himself stopping short upon entering the bullpen.  It was empty, again, but this time, all of his teammates' coats were missing as well.  He frowned, wondering where the rest of his associates were.  It was a little after nine in the morning and there was no sign of their presence.  Ezra's stomach suddenly clenched in fear.  What if one of them had been injured?  If they had indeed been participating in a raid of some sort the previous evening, it was a definite possibility that one of them had been hurt.  Quickly, he sat down and picked up his phone, checking his voice mail for messages.  Surely they would inform him if that were the case... wouldn't they?

His voice mail was clear, so Ezra checked his email, settling back in his chair in relief when he found a message from Chris, letting him know that the rest of the men would be in late that day.  The relief turned into something else, though, when he realized that Chris had not explained why they were going to be delayed.  Ezra shrugged off the feeling as he prepared for another day of training.  Perhaps when they returned, all would be explained.  Perhaps.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Chris."  Buck stuck his head into his friend's office.

Chris was talking on the phone, but waved Buck inside.  He spoke for a few more minutes before hanging up and rubbing his eyes tiredly.  "Travis isn't happy," he sighed.  "He was really looking forward to getting Arbella and the buyer off the streets."

Buck slouched into a chair and frowned.  "I heard from Little Jimmy."

"Yeah?" Chris eyed him hopefully.

Buck nodded.  "Yeah.  He talked to Arbella's muscle again last night."  He looked at Chris seriously.  "The buyer backed out at the last minute.  Said he got a tip from a source that the cops were onto them."

"Shit,"  Chris cursed.

"Yeah," Buck agreed.  "You know who their prime suspect is gonna be."

"I know," Chris said grimly.  

"You sure he didn't know about the bust?"

"No," Chris answered reluctantly after a moment's thought.  "Ezra isn't stupid.  There's a good chance he figured it out or heard about it through the grapevine."

"Damn," Buck said.  "What do we do?"

"Nothing," Chris said firmly.  "All we got is some FBI suit claiming Ezra is dirty and a mysterious buyer that no one has been able to identify yet."

"And one racist son of a bitch that Ez seems awfully chummy with," Buck pointed out.

Chris shrugged.  "Until I see proof, it's just coincidence."

Buck shook his head skeptically as he stood.  "I hope you're right."

"Me too," Chris said softly after Buck had left.  With a grimace, he picked up the phone again to inform Travis of the new information.

* * * * * * * * * *

Chris was putting the finishing touches on his report when the insistent knocking sounded at his door.  With a groan, he saved his report and called out, "Come in."  He knew who it was and was not looking forward to the imminent conversation.

Farrell entered and sat down, not waiting for a chair to be offered.  He tossed a packet of photographs on Chris's desk.  "Wednesday's surveillance photos."

Chris picked one up and felt his heart sink.  It was Ezra and Bradley Hanford, having dinner at an elegant restaurant.  Hiding his feelings, he turned to Farrell and lifted an eyebrow.  "So?"

"So?!"  Farrell sputtered.  "Standish has dinner with the suspect the night before the buyer mysteriously gets cold feet, and you don't think it's significant?"

"Doesn't prove anything," Chris retorted.  "All it means is that he had dinner with your suspect.  And besides, Ezra didn't even know about the bust."

"Yeah, right," Farrell said sarcastically.  "I've heard about you and your men, Larabee.  You cover for each other."

"You'd better watch what you say around here, Farrell," Chris said in an icy tone.  "You really don't want to be accusing my men of compromising an investigation, especially without any evidence."

Farrell snorted.  "Oh, I'll get evidence all right."

Chris glared at him.  "Then don't bother me unless you do."

Farrell stood and returned the glare.  "I'll be back, and when I do, I'm going to take down Standish and anyone else who gets in my way."  He turned and left the office quickly, slamming the door behind him.

* * * * * * * * * *

Ezra was reading a newspaper as he stepped out of the elevator and didn't see the angry agent who was storming down the hall until he nearly bumped into him.

"Oh, excuse me," Ezra said apologetically, barely glancing up from his paper.

"There is no excuse for you," Farrell replied caustically.

Ezra's head snapped up and he was taken aback by the hostility radiating from the man before him.  Until he recognized him.  His mouth tightened into a hard line.  "What are you doing here, Farrell?"

"None of your business," Farrell snapped.

Ezra narrowed his eyes.  "It had better not be."

"Is that a threat?"

"If you like," Ezra stated calmly as he turned his back on the other man.

"Don't walk away when I'm talking to you!"  Farrell demanded, grabbing Ezra's arm.

In a blur of motion, Ezra spun around, twisted the man's arm behind his back and shoved him into the wall.  "As one of my associates would say, put that hand on me again and I'll rip your arm off and beat you over the head with it."  Ezra smiled at the sudden pallor on Farrell's face.  He would have to thank Buck for providing him with that line.  He released Farrell and turned away.

"This isn't over, Standish," Farrell yelled.

Ezra ignored him and continued toward his office, a satisfied smile playing across his face.  It felt good to get a little payback at Farrell's expense, since the annoying agent had been one of Ezra's biggest detractors in the Atlanta FBI office.  His smile fell a bit when he realized that Farrell had been coming from the direction of his team's office.  The pieces began to click into place.  Farrell was probably here stirring up trouble for him and was likely the cause of his team's strange behavior of late.  Ezra sighed, wondering what, if anything, he could do about it.

The sound of someone clearing his throat caught Ezra's attention and he turned to see Vin lounging in the doorway of the men's room.  "Mr. Tanner," he said in greeting.

"You want to tell me what that was all about?"  He nodded his head toward the elevators, where Farrell was just stepping inside.

"An old... associate from Atlanta," he replied carefully, not bothering to hide the distaste on his face.

"I take it you don't like him very much?"

Ezra gave a short laugh.  "Very observant of you, Mr. Tanner."

"That why you nearly busted his arm?" Vin pressed.

Suspicious, Ezra said stiffly, "I don't appreciate being manhandled."

Vin eyed him steadily, then nodded, apparently satisfied with his answer.  "That was a good move you used on 'im."

Ezra shrugged.  "Something I picked up."  

Vin pushed away from the doorway and strolled slowly toward the bullpen.  "Maybe you can show it to me sometime."

"Maybe," Ezra said softly, troubled by the conversation.  He had no doubt that Chris would soon know all about his confrontation with Farrell and he wasn't certain how his boss would react.  Affecting a relaxed stride, he made his way to his desk and busied himself with sorting through his mail.

"Ezra."  

Ezra lifted his eyes to meet the cool gaze of his superior.  "Yes, Mr. Larabee?"

Chris nodded toward his office, then turned and went inside.

With a sigh, Ezra followed, feeling the eyes of his teammates on his back.  "Showtime," he muttered to himself.

"Sit down," Chris directed.

Ezra sat, leaning back in the chair casually.  "What can I do for you?"

"Tell me about Farrell," Chris said in a tone that made it clear it was not a request.

Ezra smiled slightly.  "Mr. Tanner is expeditious, as usual."

Chris stared at him expectantly.

Ezra sighed again.  "Agent Farrell is a former colleague from Atlanta."

"That's a reason to assault him in the hallway?"  Chris gave him a penetrating stare that would have made a lesser man squirm. 

Ezra returned the gaze placidly.  "Of course not.  He put his hands on my person and I merely showed him the error of his ways."

"Ezra," Chris warned, not fooled by the flippant response.

"The man is a complete and utter jackass," Ezra said directly.  "He caused me a substantial amount of grief in Atlanta and I have little patience in dealing with the sanctimonious bastard.  I was quite pleased when he finally transferred to St. Louis." 

Chris studied him thoughtfully for a moment then sighed.  "Well, you'd best stay clear of him while he's here."

"And why _is_ he here?"  Ezra asked pointedly.

"I can't tell you that," Chris said, looking away.

"I see," Ezra said slowly.

Chris returned his gaze to his undercover agent, noting the hurt that flared briefly in his eyes before the armor fell back into place.  "Aw hell," he muttered, reaching into his desk drawer.  Tossing the picture of the KKK rally on the desk, he asked, "What do you know about this?"

Ezra blanched when he saw the photograph, picking it up by the corner as if it were something disgusting.  "Damn," he whispered softly, dropping the picture back on the desk and shutting his eyes.  

"I guess you recognize it," Chris stated.

"Unfortunately," Ezra said as he rubbed his temples.  It all made sense now.  The awkward silences, Nathan's hostility – they all thought he was a card-carrying racist.  

"Nathan wasn't too happy when he saw that," Chris said.  "It might be a good idea for you to avoid him for a little while."

"I should have known that Farrell would dredge up something like this," Ezra said resignedly.  He and Bradley had had long discussions about that summer and how much they hated what Dwight and his fellow Klan members stood for.  Ezra had never understood how people could harbor such hatred and was glad that Bradley seemed to have avoided the bigotry his father had preached.

"Care to explain?" Chris inquired flatly.

"Not particularly," Ezra said, shaking off the memories and opening his eyes.  "It's not a time I'm fond of remembering."

"You'll have to do better than that," Chris warned.

Ezra fixed his eyes on Chris, his expression stony.  "I was eight years old and I most certainly did not attend that... gathering by choice.  This picture was taken by a local reporter and printed in the town newspaper."  He sighed.  "Hell, I didn't even know what they were all about.  I believed it was just another of those men's clubs with silly hats and rituals."

Chris eyed him doubtfully.  "You're from the South and you didn't know what the Ku Klux Klan was?"

Ezra said tightly, "I spent most of that period of my life attending schools in Europe.  I knew little about such organizations."

"Farrell also claims that you had a problem working for a black supervisor in Atlanta."

Ezra snorted.  "Agent Watson was an ignoramus, no matter what color his skin happened to be.  He gained his position via one of those affirmative action programs that Mr. Jackson supports so strongly."  Ezra shook his head.  "The man wasn't qualified for his job and nearly got me killed with his bumbling efforts." 

"Farrell's not going to let this drop," Chris said with a sigh.

"I don't care about Farrell," Ezra said acidly.

"You should."

Ezra searched Chris's face.  "You don't believe him, do you?"

"I don't know what to believe, Ezra," Chris replied after a moment's hesitation.  

Ezra nodded, lowering his gaze.  "I understand."  It was plain on the man's face that he had his doubts, and if Chris had doubts, the rest of the team was certain to follow suit.  "Is that why I was reassigned?"

"Ezra..." Chris began.

"It's all right, Mr. Larabee," Ezra said flatly.  "I'm quite used to this game."

"This isn't a game, Ezra," Chris said.

Ezra shrugged.  "And what is my next assignment?"

"Team Five needs some research done on the Landers case," Chris replied reluctantly.

"Of course," Ezra said with a bitter smile.

Chris blew out a frustrated breath.  "This isn't my call, Ezra."

"It never is," Ezra said blandly as he got to his feet.  "At any rate, I do hope you were successful in yesterday's operation.  I'd hate to think I was missing out on any more excitement."

"What operation?" Chris asked, dismayed by Ezra's apparent knowledge of the bust.

Ezra rolled his eyes.  "I overheard your plans to take down Arbella and his buyer.  Were you not successful?"

"No," Chris said.  "They never showed."

"Pity," Ezra said indifferently as he reached for the door.  "I hope you have better luck next time."

Chris stared mutely at the door as it shut softly behind the southerner.  "Shit," he cursed softly to himself. Instead of clarifying things, as he had hoped when he had shown Ezra the picture, it seemed that he had complicated them further.  He hated to do it, but now that he knew about Ezra's awareness of the bust, he would have to pass the information along, which didn't bode well for his undercover agent.  It was just one more nail in the coffin that Farrell was trying to build and Chris could do little to stop it.

* * * * * * * * * *

Ezra walked stiffly back to his desk, keeping his expression blank and pretending not to notice the sudden shuffling of papers that accompanied his exit from Larabee's office.  Calmly, he gathered his papers together and lifted his coat from the back of his chair.  With a mirthless smile, he saluted his teammates.  "Good night, gentlemen."  He heard the half-hearted murmurs of his associates as he walked out of the bullpen as though he hadn't a care in the world, even as he felt the ice beginning to form around his heart.

* * * * * * * * * *

Five pairs of eyes followed the smooth agent out the door before turning to the door to Chris's office.  It only took a few minutes before the door opened and Chris entered the bullpen, a troubled expression on his face.

"Uh-oh," Buck said.  "What's wrong?"

Chris rubbed a hand over his face.  "I showed him the picture of the rally."

"Was that a good idea?"  Josiah asked.

Chris shrugged.  "I was hoping he might volunteer some information about Hanford, but he never even mentioned his name."  


"What did he say?" asked JD.

"Not much," Chris replied.  "Said he was eight and he didn't go to it willingly."

"You believe him?" asked Buck.

"I don't know," Chris said honestly.  "He did seem upset by the photo."

"Hell, he was just a kid," Vin said.  "He probably didn't have any choice about going."

Nathan sniffed.  "Maybe he's just upset about us finding out he was brought up in the KKK."

"Maybe," Chris grudgingly conceded.  "That's not the worst, though."

"He knew about last night, didn't he," Vin said knowingly.

"Yeah," Chris said with a sigh.  "He made a comment about it as he was leaving.  Said he overheard us discussing it."

"He could have passed along that info, then," Buck said.

"It's very possible," Josiah agreed sadly.

"I had to tell Travis..." Chris trailed off, unwilling to continue.

"Had to be done, pard," Buck said.  

"Doesn't mean I gotta like it," Chris retorted.  

"Man, I need a drink," Buck said, eager to put this day behind him.

"Me too," Vin agreed with a sigh.  "You guys comin'?"

The rest of them nodded and returned to their desks to finish up for the day before heading for the Saloon.

* * * * * * * * * *

Ezra sat in his car with his eyes closed, leaning his head back against the soft leather seat.  What a mess.  It was something he should have expected.  Things were going too well for him and he was actually feeling the faint stirrings of happiness.  He should have known that it was just the prelude to yet another disaster.  Ezra gave a derisive snort, realizing that he had conned himself quite thoroughly into believing that things would be different this time.  His skills must have slipped, since he certainly should know better by now.  Ezra Standish and happiness were simply not compatible.

A loud banging sound woke him suddenly.  Ezra looked around for a moment, confused, until he realized he was still sitting in his car in the parking garage of the Federal Building.  Turning to his left, he saw Vin Tanner crouched next to his car and looking at him through the window.

"You all right?"  Vin's muffled voice questioned. 

Ezra rubbed his eyes and lowered his window, not wanting to be so rude as to speak through a pane of glass.  "I am fine, Mr. Tanner," he replied.  

"You sure?" Vin asked doubtfully.

"Yes," he replied.  "I have been suffering a bout of insomnia lately and am simply quite fatigued."

"Oh," Vin said, not sounding entirely convinced.  "I guess you aren't going to be joining us at the Saloon?"

"Not tonight," Ezra confirmed.  "I am going to go home and sleep, if I am able."

"Well, take it easy," Vin said, slapping the side of his car as he walked toward the exit.

"I intend to, Mr. Tanner," Ezra said as he raised his window and started his car.  In his rearview mirror, he saw the rest of his teammates exiting the elevator and following in the same direction Vin had taken.  They usually walked to the Saloon, since it was located only a few blocks away from the office.  Ezra smiled sadly, knowing that he was likely to be the topic of conversation this evening.  He wouldn't have joined them even if he hadn't felt so exhausted.  Stifling a yawn, he turned his car toward home.

TBC

* * *


	4. Part 4

  
Black and White  
ATF Universe   
by Violette  


Part 4  
  


* * *

It was with an aching head and weary body that Ezra dragged himself into the office the following Monday.  His weekend had been unexciting.  His insomnia had remained persistent, and he had been unable to enjoy the escape that sleep brought to his restless mind.  Instead, he had spent the weekend catching up on some mundane personal paperwork that he had been neglecting of late.  The monotony had only been interrupted by a brief visit from Bradley, who had taken him to lunch on Sunday.  The visit had cheered him somewhat, but Ezra now found any residual pleasure fading as he steeled himself to face his associates.  

Carefully masking his churning emotions, Ezra walked briskly into the bullpen and took a seat at his desk, waving briefly in greeting to the rest of his team.  Waiting on his desk was a folder containing the pertinent information for the Landers case.  Pinching the bridge of his nose, Ezra stifled a grimace.  Ordinarily, he didn't mind research work, but knowing that this was simply 'busy work' to keep him out of the way left him feeling less than enthusiastic about his new assignment.

"Hey, Ez," Vin said as he passed Ezra's desk on the way to the break room.  "Want some coffee?"

Ezra looked up, surprised by the offer.  "Yes, thank you, Mr. Tanner."

"You look like you need it," Vin commented as he disappeared into the room.

_That was an understatement_, Ezra thought with disgust, remembering the dismal sight that had greeted him when he looked in the mirror that morning.  Dark circles had taken up residence under his bloodshot eyes, evidence that lack of sleep was beginning to take its toll.  

Vin returned with the coffee, scrutinizing Ezra carefully as he handed him the cup.  "You still not sleepin'?"

Closing his eyes as he sipped the fragrant brew, Ezra nodded in response.

"Anythin' I can do to help?"

Ezra's eyes flew open and he regarded the sharpshooter skeptically.  There was nothing but sincerity on the man's face, however, so Ezra relaxed, leaning back in his chair.  "I'm afraid not, Mr. Tanner," he said.  "I have been afflicted with this before and there is nothing to do but wait until it passes in its own time."

"Ya know, I find that doin' a real hard workout can help make you tired, so you can't do nothin' much but sleep anyway," Vin offered.

Ezra tilted his head slightly, contemplating the suggestion.  "Perhaps," he conceded.  "If this continues to plague me, I may attempt such a remedy." 

Vin nodded and gave him a smile before returning to his desk.  Ezra watched him for a moment, wondering at his pleasant demeanor before finally shaking his head in confusion.  A headache was beginning to brew behind his eyes and he was simply too tired to expend any further effort trying to understand his teammates.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Buck watched quietly as Ezra left the bullpen, heading for the file room in the basement to start on his research assignment.  The exhaustion on the younger man's face was obvious and he hated watching him pretend that nothing was wrong.  His own part in this mess didn't make him feel any better.  He was still unsure of how he felt about the accusations against the southerner.  Was he a racist bastard or wasn't he?  Buck didn't want to believe it, but he couldn't deny the evidence.   He had been fooled before and he wasn't about to let it happen again.  The indecision alone made him feel guilty, but no matter which side he favored, it still felt wrong.  Still, here he was, waiting for the undercover agent to leave before he went to speak to Chris about a new lead on their case.   Heaving a disgusted sigh, Buck got to his feet and walked to Chris's office.

"Hey, Chris," he waved to his friend as he opened the door. 

"Buck," Chris nodded at him.  "What's up?"

"I got some new info from Little Jimmy," he said, slumping into a chair in front of Chris's desk.

"Hold it," Chris said as he started to rise.

"It's all right, Chris," Buck said, waving him back to his seat.  "He already left for the file room."

Chris lowered himself back into his chair.  "I don't like this any better than you do," he said with a frown.

"Maybe this time the bust will go down as planned and this will finally be over and done with," Buck said hopefully.  "Jimmy heard there's going to be a new meet on Friday night with Arbella."

"Where?"

"Down at the old car dealership.  You know, the one on Water Street," Buck said.  "Place has been abandoned for a couple of years now."

"What time?"

Buck shrugged.  "Same as before.  He said it was set for sometime that night."

Chris frowned.  "Okay.  I'll let Travis know.  Don't tell the guys until we get things set up."

Buck looked at him curiously.

"No sense spreading the news until we need to," he explained.

Nodding grimly, Buck left the office.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Ezra shut off the microfiche reader and leaned back in the uncomfortable plastic chair.  His eyes burned and his head ached from spending the afternoon staring at newspaper articles.  Efforts were being made to computerize all of the older records and files, but progress was slow, forcing agents to scroll through microfiche data or search musty file cabinets for some of their information. 

Gathering the copies and notes he had made, Ezra left the archive room and headed back to his office.  This was his third day of research and he had barely completed a quarter of the required work.  The powers that be would be pleased, he thought bitterly.  There was enough work to keep him out of the way for quite some time.  Reaching his desk, Ezra set the pile of papers on top of the stack of completed work, then opened his desk drawer to retrieve the bottle of aspirin he kept there.  He shook three into his hand and headed to the break room for a bottle of water.  

The office was quiet, his teammates having left earlier.  Ezra had found it less stressful to leave work later, when there was less likelihood of running into the rest of his team.  The strain of maintaining a pleasant demeanor in their presence was simply too exhausting, especially since his insomnia had continued its stubborn hold on his nights.  As he swallowed the aspirin, he recalled Vin's suggestion of working out in order to tire himself enough to sleep.  He had tried every remedy he knew, short of taking sleeping pills, and nothing had worked.  There wasn't much to lose by giving Vin's idea a try, so he decided to head down to the gym before going home.

There were only a few other people in the gym, something for which Ezra was grateful, since he wasn't in the mood for small talk.  He changed quickly and warmed up with some stretching and martial arts exercises on the mat, then moved on to the heavy bag.  Donning his gloves, he worked out for nearly two hours.  He did a circuit on the weight machines and then practiced his boxing, as well as some karate, until his body ached from the exertion.  After he finished a slow set of cool-down exercises, Ezra wearily made his way to the showers. 

As the warm water soothed his aching muscles, Ezra began to think that maybe Vin had hit on something, since he certainly felt tired enough to sleep.  He would have to thank him for the suggestion if it worked.  He finished his shower quickly and then headed back to his locker to change.  As he was buttoning his shirt, Ezra suddenly heard the sound of his name being voiced.  Curious, he edged quietly toward the end of the row of lockers, where he could hear the conversation from several rows down more clearly.

"You think they'll show for the bust Friday?"  queried the voice of Rick Nagel, a member of Team Two.

"Yeah," replied his teammate, John Vargas.  "As long as Standish doesn't find out about it and tip them off again.  A lot can happen in two days."

"I can't imagine what Larabee was thinking when he hired that asshole," Nagel said with a derisive snort.  "Everyone knows he's dirty."

"He must be a damn good con artist," Vargas pointed out.  "He sure pulled the wool over Travis and Larabee's eyes.  Hell, that whole damn team must be blind."

"I hear they're startin' to see the light, though," Nagel said.  "They're makin' a point of keepin' him in the dark on this bust."

"'Bout time they saw him for what he really is," Vargas agreed.

"No joke," Nagel agreed.  "Personally, I trust the son of a bitch about as far as I can throw him... and that ain't far."

Vargas and Nagel laughed, and Ezra decided he had heard enough.  Silently, he crept back to his locker, hurriedly finished dressing, and left the gym, his mind reeling with what he had overheard.  Reaching his car, he climbed inside and closed his eyes, resting his forehead on the steering wheel while he contemplated the accusations made by the men from Team Two.

Ezra felt the foundations of his world begin to crumble.  Everything was clear now.  Larabee and the others thought he was on the take, informing the weapons buyers of the scheduled raids against them.  No matter how many different ways he looked at it, he couldn't understand why anyone would think such a thing.  How could anyone believe he was connected with such criminals?  Ezra beat his fist against the dashboard.  That must have been part of the reason Farrell was in Denver – the part that Chris couldn't discuss.  Foolishly, he had believed that the photograph that Chris had shown him was the only thing drawing Farrell's interest.  Instead, it looked like the FBI agent was out to ruin him for good.  Lifting his head, Ezra started his car and drove home.  

* * * * * * * * * * 

Ezra slumped listlessly into his chair, dropping his head forward on his outstretched arms.  It was barely six AM on Thursday morning and, unsurprisingly, he was the first to arrive in the office.  Vin's insomnia remedy had worked.  He had been completely exhausted when he finally returned to his apartment the previous night, but his turbulent thoughts had refused to leave him in peace.  He had tossed and turned the whole night, never getting more than a few minutes of sleep at a time, until he finally gave up and came into the office.   

Lifting his head, Ezra gazed around the empty office, wondering how he could have ever felt that he belonged.  It worried him that he was so bothered by the conversation he had inadvertently overheard.  When had he started to care what other people thought of him?  

With a sigh of frustration, Ezra pushed himself to his feet and shuffled toward the break room.  He wasn't going to make it through the day without a hefty dose of coffee, though he didn't think even Vin's potent brew could banish the exhaustion that weighed upon him.

* * * * * * * * * * 

A sudden crash woke him and Ezra looked around dazedly, blinking at the sudden flood of light.  

"Sorry, Ez," Vin said apologetically as he picked up the can of coffee that had fallen off of the counter.  "I didn't mean to wake ya."

Ezra yawned and ran a hand through his hair.  "Quite all right, Mr. Tanner.  I didn't intend to fall asleep."

Vin gave him a crooked smile.  "Guess that's why you made the coffee."

"Indeed," Ezra replied as he stood and reached for the full coffeepot.  "I'm afraid I'll need quite a bit of this to remain alert today."

"Still not sleepin'?" Vin asked, a note of concern in his voice.

"No," Ezra replied.  

"Did you try working out?" 

"Yes, I did," Ezra answered.  "Last evening, in fact."

"Oh," Vin said, sounding disappointed.

"It did exhaust me thoroughly, but I'm afraid that my thoughts simply would not allow me to escape into slumber."

"Well... if you need to talk to someone, I'm a good listener," Vin offered.

Ezra gave him a wan smile.  "It's not something I'm comfortable discussing right now."

Vin shrugged.  "I'll be around if you change your mind."

"I'll remember," Ezra said as he poured a cup of coffee.

"You do that," Vin called to him as he headed back to his desk.

* * * * * * * * * * 

It was barely three o'clock when Ezra decided to call it quits.  After catching himself reading the same document for the fourth time, it was obvious he wasn't going to get anything more accomplished that day.  His teammates were probably still in the office, but he was too tired to care as he trudged into the bullpen.  Dropping wearily into his chair, Ezra didn't even bother to acknowledge their presence, though he sensed their curiosity at his unexpected arrival.  

"Damn, pard," commented Vin.  "You look like shit."

"Thank you, Mr. Tanner," Ezra replied curtly.

"Are you all right, brother?" Josiah asked.

"Fine," Ezra replied, attempting to file his papers quickly so he could escape the questioning.

"Yeah, you're fine all right," Nathan retorted sarcastically.

Ezra favored him with a frosty glare.  "When I want your opinion, Mr. Jackson, I'll ask for it."

Nathan's own gaze turned hard.  "What's the matter?  Are you too good to take advice from someone like me?"

Ezra rolled his eyes.  "Please spare me the melodrama."

Nathan stood, fists clenched at his sides.  "What are you trying to say?"

Ezra gave a long-suffering sigh and waved his hand dismissively as he turned away.  "If the shoe fits...."

"You son of a..."  Nathan advanced on him, but was stopped by Chris's voice.

"Standish!" Chris interrupted.  "Get in here."  Chris turned and stalked back to his office.

Ezra gave the group a humorless smile as he rose and followed Chris into his office, slamming the door behind him.

"What the hell was that all about?!" JD asked.  

Vin shook his head in resignation.  He had a feeling that something was going to blow before long.  Nathan had been spoiling for a fight ever since seeing the KKK picture, and Ezra was growing edgier each day.  It had only been a matter of time before the situation came to a head.  He just wished that there was something more he could do about it.

"Stupid bastard is really askin' for it," Nathan spat heatedly.

"Calm down, brother," Josiah said soothingly.  "You know he only acts like that because he knows it irritates you."

Nathan glared at him then stomped off toward the break room.

The four remaining men shared a look as they heard the muffled argument coming from Chris's office.

"This is not good," Buck finally said, echoing the thoughts of the others in the room.  "Not good at all."

* * * * * * * * * * 

"What the hell's the matter with you?!" Chris yelled once Ezra had shut the door.

Ezra sat down and eyed him coolly, raising an elegant eyebrow in question.  "Nothing is the matter with me.  I suggest you ask Mr. Jackson that question, as there appears to be something distressing him."

"Ezra," Chris ground out between clenched teeth.  "You know that Nathan is bothered by that picture of you at the Klan party.  Why do you have to antagonize him?"

"I did no such thing," Ezra said icily.  

"Yes, you did," Chris countered.  "Is it too much to ask that you respect his feelings and lay off the arguments for a while?"

His frustration finally boiled over and Ezra said incredulously, his voice rising in volume,  "His feelings?!  What about _my_ feelings?!  It's my good name that is being sullied!"

"Good name?" Chris said sarcastically, then immediately regretted it when he saw the shock and sadness that flickered in the green eyes.

Ezra opened his mouth as if to speak, then slowly closed it, shuttering his emotions behind an impassive façade.  "I believe I've been insulted enough for one day," he said flatly.  "Good day, Mr. Larabee."  He stood and made for the door.

"Ezra!" Chris shouted.  "Sit down!"

Ezra paused, his hand on the doorknob.  Without turning around, he said, "Mr. Larabee, I am tired and I simply wish to go home to get some sleep."

"Sit," Chris commanded.  

Ezra waited a moment, then slowly complied, favoring his superior with a placid expression.

Chris ran a hand through his hair.  "Damn it, Ezra.  Can't you just do as I ask for once?"

"I was attempting to do just that, but Mr. Jackson and the others insisted upon starting a conversation," Ezra said calmly.  

"You didn't have to answer them," Chris pointed out.

"But that would be rude," Ezra said innocently.

Chris clenched his jaw in exasperation.  "Don't start, Ezra.  I'm not in the mood."

"Neither am I," Ezra replied tersely.

"I think it would be best if you stayed away from Nathan for the time being," Chris said.  "Unless you'd care to explain some more about that picture?"

Ezra snorted.  "My personal life is none of your concern."

"It is if you belong to a racist organization," Chris said bluntly.

Ezra stared at him intensely for a long moment before he answered.  "I have learned that my words carry very little weight, so you'll excuse me if I keep my own counsel."

"Damn it, Ezra!" Chris said, slamming his hand on the desk to punctuate his frustration.

"On that note, I will take my leave," Ezra stated, rising to his feet once again.  "I am far too weary to continue to converse in a rational manner."

"We're not finished here, Standish," Chris said loudly.

"Yes, we are," Ezra said as he stepped through the door and shut it quietly behind him.

"Ezra!" 

Ezra flinched slightly as he heard Chris yell at him through the door.  Ignoring his teammates, he made his way to his desk and quickly picked up his coat and briefcase.  Without a backward glance, he strolled casually away from his teammates, stifling the urge to run.

* * * * * * * * * * 

He usually didn't drink at such an early hour, but this day had been far from normal and, at the moment, all Ezra wanted to do was get himself pleasantly hammered.  Ignoring Inez's look of concern, he purchased a bottle at the bar and moved to a table in the corner and poured himself the first of many drinks.  Maybe if he drank enough, he could forget for a little while.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Bradley Hanford scanned the crowd carefully, smiling broadly when he spotted his quarry in the far corner of the room.  He was glad he remembered Ezra telling him about this place.  Making his way through the smoky bar, he pulled up a chair and sat opposite a very inebriated Ezra Standish.  

"Hello, cousin," Bradley said cheerfully.

Ezra lifted his head slowly, blinking blearily a few times before grinning crookedly at the other man.  "H'lo, Brad-ley," he slurred, his accent thicker than usual.  "What're you doin' here?"

"I should ask you the same question," Bradley said, chuckling at seeing his refined and fastidious cousin in such a disheveled state.

"I had a bad day," Ezra said with a soft hiccup.

"I can see that," Bradley said, shaking his head at the picture Ezra presented.  "Why don't you let me take you home?"

"'Kay," Ezra answered after a moment.

Bradley smiled and reached for Ezra's coat, pocketing his car keys before hauling him to his feet.   "Let's go, Ezra."

Inez watched them go with a relieved smile as she cleared Ezra's table.  It had concerned her greatly when the handsome agent had come into the bar looking as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders.  At first, she was afraid something had happened to one of his teammates, since she knew how close they all were and how much they suffered when another of their number was injured.  Ezra had reassured her that they were all safe, but his morose attitude worried her.  It was unlike him to drink so much.  She didn't know who the blond man was, but she was glad that someone was looking out for one of her favorite customers.  

* * * * * * * * * * 

Ezra peeled an eye open at the sound of his alarm, then slammed it shut as the early morning sunlight sent a bolt of pain shooting through his skull.  Moaning, he reached out and silenced the alarm, wishing he could do the same for the pounding in his head.  He rolled over onto his side and immediately realized his mistake as his stomach began to churn.  Clapping his hand over his mouth, Ezra rushed into the bathroom, barely reaching the toilet before his stomach emptied itself.

After what seemed like hours of retching, his stomach gave him a reprieve and Ezra was able to pull himself to his feet without incident.  He shook out some aspirin and swallowed them carefully, draining a few glasses of water to alleviate some of his dehydration.  Running a shaky hand through his hair, he grimaced at the haggard face that looked back at him from the mirror.  He had certainly overdone it last night.  He should have known better that to drink most of a bottle of Wild Turkey by himself.  

Frowning, Ezra realized he didn't remember getting home last night.  "Good Lord," he muttered.  What if Inez had called one of his teammates to drive him home?  He thought about it for a minute and then shrugged it off.  It didn't much matter, since they already thought little of his character.  

Not even bothering to look at the clock, he shuffled out of the bathroom and shut off the ringer on the telephone.  Mindful of his aching head, he walked slowly back to his bed and crawled under the blankets, sinking into the softness of his pillow with a sigh.  He decided that nothing short of an explosion was going to dislodge him from his bed today.  Ezra figured that he was already in the doghouse with his boss, so what was one more infraction on the list?

* * * * * * * * * * 

"Buck, have you worked up those plans for the car dealership?"  Chris asked as he stopped in front of the gregarious agent's desk.

"Yep," Buck replied.  "Got 'em right here."  He handed Chris the plans.

"Good," Chris said, nodding in satisfaction at the detailed layout.  "We'll be meeting with Team Two at two o'clock to go over this."

"Our conference room or theirs?" 

"Theirs," Chris said.  "We can't take any chances."

"Yeah, I know," Buck sighed.

Chris looked over at Ezra's desk and frowned.  There was no sign that the undercover man had been there yet.  "Anyone seen Ezra today?"

"Nope," Vin answered.

"Not today," Josiah stated.

"Me neither," said JD through a mouthful of potato chips as he perched on the corner of Buck's desk.

Buck and Nathan shook their heads in the negative as well.

"Damn," muttered, his forehead wrinkling with concern.

"Somethin' wrong, cowboy?" asked Vin.

"I don't know.  Maybe," Chris said with a shrug.  

"You worried or do you just hate not knowin' where he is?"  Buck asked.

"Both," Chris answered.  Turning to his youngest agent, he said, "JD, can you check the file room?  See if he's been there."

"Sure."  JD hopped off the edge of the desk and hurried out of the room.

"He's not answering his phone," Josiah said as he replaced the handset of his telephone.  "I tried both his home and his cell phone."

"Want me to run by his place?"  Vin offered.  "I was just about to go for lunch anyway."

Chris nodded slowly.  "Yeah.  I need to know where he's at, in case anyone asks."

Nathan said nothing as Vin grabbed his leather jacket and strode out of the bullpen.  Chris looked at the dark-skinned man, wondering if there was any way this conflict could be resolved.  He was in charge of a group of the most stubborn and opinionated men he had ever had the misfortune to meet.  The fact that they were able to work together at all constantly amazed him – and his superiors.  Chris didn't want to lose anyone on this team of wildcards, but it was looking more and more likely every day.  He gazed again at the empty desk, wondering if it was a sight to which he was going to have to become accustomed.  

****

TBC 

  


* * *


	5. Part 5

  
Black and White  
ATF Universe  
by Violette   


Part 5  
  


* * *

Vin rang the doorbell repeatedly, but there was no answer.  Frowning, he pulled out his wallet and withdrew a lock pick from a hidden pocket inside.  A few minutes later, he opened the door and stepped quietly into the apartment.  He had only been there twice before, but it looked exactly the same: neat and spare, without the personal touches one would expect in a home.  It was spotlessly clean; the only thing that was out of place was Ezra's coat, which lay in a crumpled heap next to the overstuffed sofa.

Stealthily, Vin made his way toward the bedroom, opening the door soundlessly and peering inside.  The shades were drawn, but he could make out a still mound in the center of the large bed.  With a hint of trepidation, Vin moved quietly toward the bed, pausing at the side before sitting gently on the edge of the mattress.

"Ezra?"  Vin reached a tentative hand toward the blanket-covered man and gently shook his shoulder.  "You in there, Ez?"

A moan was the only response as a hand snaked out from under the covers to brush him away.

"Come on, Ez," Vin cajoled.  "Wake up."

"Go 'way," the thick voice mumbled.

"Uh-uh.  Not until you open them eyes," Vin said.

With a groan, Ezra turned onto his back and opened his eyes, glaring at the intruder in his room.  "What are you doing here, Mr. Tanner?"

"I came by to check on you," Vin replied.  "You didn't show up at work and we were worried about you."

"I highly doubt that," Ezra said sullenly.

Vin shrugged.  "Believe what you want, but it's the truth."

"Well, now you've checked on me," Ezra snapped.  "You can report my whereabouts to Mr. Larabee.  I'm sure he'll be happy to know that I'm not off burning any crosses today."

Vin stared at him, but Ezra refused to meet his eyes.  "You look like ten miles of bad road, pard," he finally said, choosing to ignore Ezra's previous comment.  "You sick or somethin'?"

"Yes, I'm sick," Ezra spat.  "Sick of being' everyone's goddamned whipping boy!"

"Chill out, Ez," Vin said, lifting his hands in a placating gesture.  "I'm on your side."

"No one's on my side, Mr. Tanner," Ezra whispered dejectedly.  "It's not a good place to be."

"I hate to disagree with a sick man, but you're wrong about that," Vin said.

"I'll believe it when I see it," Ezra muttered stubbornly.

Vin sighed, then demanded, "Are you gonna come in to work today or are you gonna lay here feelin' sorry for yourself?"

"Not so loud, Mr. Tanner," Ezra said with a grimace.  "My head is killing me."

"Hangover?"  Vin asked in surprise.  He had never seen the southerner drink more than a couple of beers or a glass or two of wine.

"Yes," Ezra admitted.  "Consuming a bottle of fine Kentucky bourbon will do that to a person."

"Ouch." Vin winced in sympathy.  "You tryin' to cure that insomnia with booze?"

"Something like that," Ezra mumbled in reply.

"Chris ain't gonna be too happy about this," Vin warned.

"Fuck him," Ezra said matter-of-factly.

Vin's jaw dropped.  He had never heard the sophisticated agent stoop to using such common profanity.  "Want me to tell him you said that?"

A small smile graced Ezra's features.  "Why not?  It'll make him turn that nice shade of red while the little vein on his forehead pops out."

"You're right about that," Vin laughed.  "Nobody can do it as well as you, though."

"I've had a lot of practice," Ezra said with a faint grin.

"So, you comin' in or not?" Vin asked.

Ezra sighed.  "I suppose I ought to put in an appearance."  He turned to Vin and smiled half-heartedly.  "I wouldn't want Mr. Larabee to blow a blood vessel."

Vin chuckled.  "He might do it anyway, once he gets a look at ya."

"I'm sure our fearless leader is not unfamiliar with the use of alcohol as a sleep agent," Ezra said pointedly.

"Yeah, but that don't mean he ain't gonna chew your ass about it, though," Vin warned.

"What else is new?" Ezra said with a shrug as he slowly sat up.

"You need any help?" Vin offered, noting the increased pallor on the other man's face.

"No, thank you," Ezra said, swallowing delicately.  "I simply need to adjust to the altitude."

"How about I give you a ride?  Be better than drivin' with that headache."

Ezra pondered this for a moment, surprised at the offer, before nodding slowly.  "Yes, that might be best."  He stood and headed to the bathroom for a shower.

"Want me to make some coffee?"

Ezra made a face.  "No, thank you.  I don't think my stomach would appreciate that battery acid you like to brew."

"It's not _that_ bad," Vin protested as he took out his cell phone to let Chris know what was happening.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Forty minutes later, they were walking toward the bullpen, Ezra clutching his double-sized cup of Starbuck's coffee while Vin teased him about how bad he looked.  Ezra ignored his comments while he sipped the comforting brew in his cup, wishing it could eliminate the headache that still throbbed in his temples.

"Hey, Ez," JD said cheerfully.  "You look awful."

Ezra merely grunted in response.

"That's what happens when you drink yourself into a stupor," Nathan said snidely.

Ezra shot him a glare, but said nothing as he made his way to his desk.  He dropped heavily into his chair, beginning to regret his decision to come into work.

"Ezra," Chris called to him.

With a sigh, Ezra stood and trudged toward Chris's office.  Being lectured by his boss was starting to become a daily occurrence.  He definitely should have stayed home.

"Want to tell me why you felt the need to get plastered last night?" Chris asked once Ezra was seated across from him.

"No," Ezra said brusquely.

"Tell me anyway," Chris demanded, staring into the bloodshot green eyes of his undercover agent.

Ezra looked away.  "I was merely trying to sleep, that is all."

"You need a whole bottle for that?"

"Apparently," Ezra replied.

Rolling a pencil between his thumb and forefinger, Chris said pointedly, "You don't need to be making any more trouble for yourself right now, understand?"

"Perfectly," Ezra said with an icy smile.  "You forget, I've been here before."  

"Ezra..."

"Are we through here?" Ezra interrupted.  "I still have work to do."

Chris glared at him, but gave him a curt nod.  

Giving him a weak salute, Ezra left Chris's office, stopping only briefly at his desk before he fled the bullpen with his files.

Chris watched him go and blew out a breath.  Damned stubborn southerner was going to give him gray hair before too long.  

"What'd he say?" Vin asked as he lounged against the doorjamb.

"Not a hell of a lot," Chris said disgustedly.  "Said he was drinking so he could get some sleep."

"You believe him?"

"No," Chris replied.  He looked at the sharpshooter.  "You?"

Vin shook his head.  "Man don't drink a whole bottle just to get some shuteye."

"Yeah," Chris agreed.

"I reckon he's hurtin' some," Vin said knowingly.

"Can't say I blame him," Chris said sympathetically.  "This whole situation sucks."

"Yep."

"Come on, cowboy," Chris said with a sigh.  "We've got a meeting to get to."

* * * * * * * * * * 

It was nearly 8:00 PM when Ezra called it a night.  His teammates were absent when he returned to collect his coat, much to his relief.  He wasn't in the mood for any further verbal sparring.  Heading for the elevator, Ezra pulled out his cell phone to call a taxi, but froze when he heard footsteps behind him.  Whirling around, he drew back his fist to defend himself, but dropped it when he recognized his pursuer.

"Mr. Tanner, you really shouldn't sneak up on people like that," he said wearily.

The sharpshooter grinned at him, his blue eyes twinkling with merriment.  "I know, but I just loved the look on your face when you turned around."

Ezra rolled his eyes.  "You are easily amused."

Chuckling, Vin said, "Thought you might want a ride home."

Ezra was about to refuse, but then capitulated.  "You thought correctly."  The elevator doors opened and he stepped inside.

Vin nodded and joined him in the elevator.

"Did Mr. Larabee task you with ensuring that I stay away from any drinking establishments this evening?" Ezra asked 

Vin shot him a disgusted glare.  "I just wanted to make sure you got home okay, that's all."

Chastised, Ezra said quietly, "My apologies, Mr. Tanner.  I simply did not expect any such concern for my well-being, considering that my condition is self-inflicted."

"Ain't a one of us who hasn't been there at one time or another," Vin said with a shrug.

Ezra looked at him doubtfully, still unsure as to the man's motives.  He seemed sincere enough, but Ezra had a hard time believing that anyone honestly gave a damn about him.  Given the current state of his reputation, it was easier to believe that Vin was simply playing watchdog, keeping tabs on his whereabouts in order to inform Larabee.  It wouldn't be the first time for such an occurrence.  

In the midst of his troubles with the FBI, one of Ezra's associates at the FBI had apparently lent his support in the face of the accusations that had been flung in his direction.   The agent had been so convincing in his sympathy and offers of friendship that Ezra had almost fallen for the con.  He was so desperate for someone to believe him that he had not questioned the other man's motives, and it was only after he caught his so-called friend tailing him home from a meet with one of his informants that Ezra realized the truth.  Ever since then, he had vowed to never let anyone in again.  Ezra Standish would not be played for a fool.

The drive to his condo was completed in silence and, for once, Ezra appreciated the taciturn nature of the longhaired sharpshooter.  Given his dark mood, he had no desire to be sociable and he didn't think it would be wise to inflict his bad temper upon Larabee's best friend.  He was relieved when they finally pulled up in front of his apartment.

"Thank you, Mr. Tanner," Ezra said as he climbed out of the jeep.  "I appreciate the ride."

"No problem, Ez," Vin replied.  "You take care of yourself, okay?"

"I always do," Ezra said resignedly as he started up the walk.  _Because no one else will._

* * * * * * * * * * 

"Fuck!" Larabee cursed as he glared at his watch.  "Where the hell are they?!"  It was five o'clock Saturday morning and neither party had shown up for the planned weapons deal.

"Looks like we've been stood up again, boys," Buck voiced over the comm. link.

"Ain't nothin' here," Vin said from his position on the roof.

"All right.  Let's pack it up," Chris said, his voice tight with anger.  He was getting damned sick and tired of expending a lot of effort for nothing.  Silently, Team Seven gathered their gear and moved toward their van.

"I guess Standish ratted us out again," John Vargas griped as he headed toward Team Two's van.  

Chris's head snapped up at the comment and he reached out toward Vargas, grabbing him by the front of his shirt.  "You keep your comments to yourself, you hear?"

Startled, Vargas nodded mutely.  Larabee was not someone he wanted angry with him.

"Good," Chris said with a feral grin.  Satisfied with the response, he pushed Vargas away and strode back to the van.  "Nobody badmouths any of my men," he said in answer to his team's unasked question.

The other men remained silent, not wanting to provoke their leader's ire.  Larabee didn't like it when things went wrong and they valued their own hides too much to push the issue when he was in such a foul temper.

Chris's disposition didn't improve upon his return to the office.  Travis had set up a meeting with him and Farrell, to discuss the 'problem'.  Unfortunately, Farrell believed that Ezra was the problem and Chris wasn't looking forward to the coming confrontation.  He wasn't going to throw his agent to the wolves without concrete proof of wrongdoing. 

* * * * * * * * * * 

"What are you saying?" Assistant Director Travis asked sternly.  There had been little progress in the investigation and he was starting to feel the pressure from above.

"I'm saying that we don't know anything yet," Chris answered patiently.  "Buck is meeting with his source later tonight to see if he knows why they backed out."

"I think we know what happened," Farrell said derisively.  "Standish tipped them off.  Again."

"Do you have proof of that, Agent Farrell?" Travis asked.

"Um, no, not yet," Farrell replied.

"What about the surveillance?"  Travis asked, giving the man a hard stare.

Farrell fidgeted in his chair.  "Standish didn't meet with anyone yesterday, but that doesn't mean he didn't use a phone."

"What about earlier this week?"  Chris asked pointedly.

"He had lunch with Hanford last Sunday, but nothing the rest of the week," Farrell replied.

"Are you certain?"  Travis asked.

"Well," Farrell hedged.  "We sort of... lost him on Wednesday night."

"You _lost_ him?" Travis said doubtfully.

"Yes," Farrell said hesitantly.  "I only had one agent on him that night, since one of my guys caught the flu, and he never saw Standish leave work."

"He left early that day," Chris pointed out.  "Your guy should have seen him.  Unless he was out buying donuts?"

"Hey, the guy has to take a leak some time," Farrell said defensively.

"What about Hanford?" Travis interrupted.

"He was at his hotel Wednesday night," Farrell stated confidently.  "He went out shopping in the afternoon, but spent the rest of the time in the hotel."

"So you have no proof," Chris said, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.  "We didn't even know about the buy until Monday, so there's no way Ezra could have told Hanford on Sunday."

"Doesn't mean Standish isn't dirty," Farrell argued.  "We just haven't caught him yet.  I'm working on a warrant for his phone records and a tap as we speak."

"Agent Farrell, I'd advise you to keep your accusations to yourself until you can provide me the evidence to back them up," Travis warned.  "I will not allow unfounded rumors about any of my men to circulate here.  Understood?"

Farrell gave him a tight nod, favoring Chris with a frosty glare as he left the office.

"Chris," Travis said.  "He _is_ right, you know.  Just because we haven't seen it, it doesn't mean Standish isn't involved."

Chris slumped in his chair wearily.  "I know."

Travis eyed his agent critically.  "You look like hell, Chris.  You and your boys go home and get some rest."

Chris nodded, smiling slightly.  "That sounds like an excellent idea."

"I'll speak with you on Monday, then," Travis said dismissively.

"Yes, sir," Chris said as he rose from his chair and exited the office.  Maybe things would look better with some sleep.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Chris took a pull from his beer, then stared into the bottle.

"Whatever you're lookin' for, you ain't gonna find it in there, cowboy," Vin said as he joined his friend at their usual table at the Saloon.

Chris snorted.  "Don't I know it."

The rest of the team, minus Ezra, gradually filtered in, having agreed to meet for drinks that night after they had gotten some sleep.  They weren't in the mood to celebrate, but it seemed like a good way to let off some steam.

"Hey, pard," Buck greeted Chris as he slid into his seat, the last one to arrive.  "Got some news."

Chris lifted an eyebrow in inquiry.

"Little Jimmy heard those bodyguards complaining about having to cancel the deal again.  It looks like the same reason as before."  Buck paused for a moment.  "They said the buyer has an inside source that tipped him off to the raid."

"Aw hell," JD said morosely.  "They're gonna think it's Ezra."

Josiah sighed sadly.  "Things are not looking bright for our brother."

Nathan shook his head disdainfully, but remained silent.

"Farrell hasn't got anything on Ezra," Chris said.  "His surveillance guys didn't see any contact between him and Hanford since before we even knew about the deal."

"That's good," JD said.  "Isn't it?"

"Doesn't mean he didn't call him," Nathan countered.

JD was going to protest, but Chris held up his hand.  "Nathan's right.  We don't have evidence one way or the other, so we still have to keep Ezra out of this for now."

Vin shook his head.  "He ain't gonna like that."

"Nothing we can do about it," Chris said with a shrug.

Inez arrived with a tray of beers for them, frowning when she noticed that Ezra was not there.  "Is Señor Standish joining you tonight?"

"No," Buck answered.  "Not tonight, darlin'."

"Well," she said with a sigh.  "It is probably for the best.  He should not be drinking so much."

"What do you mean?" Vin asked curiously.

"He was here, let me think... Wednesday night, " she said thoughtfully.  "Yes, that is right.  He came in at four-thirty and drank quite a lot.  I was very worried about him."

"When did he leave?" Chris asked.  

"It was nearly eleven o'clock when his friend arrived," Inez said as she collected their empty glasses.  "I was glad that someone took him home, since he was in no condition to get there by himself."

"What friend?"  Buck asked, sharing a look with Chris.  He had a bad feeling about this.

"He was a tall man, with blond hair," Inez said.  "Quite handsome, too.  I have never seen him before."

Chris reached into his briefcase with a sense of dread.  Removing one of the surveillance photos, he showed it to the pretty brunette.  "Is this him?"

Inez scrutinized the photo and slowly nodded her head.  "Yes, this is the man."  She looked around the table at all of the men, surprised at the strange looks on their faces.  "Is something wrong?"

"Maybe," Vin replied.

Her eyes widened and she gasped.  "He did not hurt Señor Standish, did he?"

"No, nothing like that," Josiah said reassuringly.  "But he's a dangerous man."

"I gotta call Travis," Chris said reluctantly.

"Inez, if you see this man again, can you give us a call?" Josiah asked.

"Yes I will do that." She nodded her head vigorously.  "Señor Standish is a nice man.  I do not like the idea that anyone would hurt him."

"Neither do we, darlin'," Buck said seriously.  "Neither do we."

* * * * * * * * * * 

Monday had, again, arrived too soon for his liking.  Ezra muffled a cough behind his handkerchief as he shuffled down the hall toward his office.  He had refrained from consuming excessive amounts of alcohol, but had developed a cold over the weekend, making him feel miserable despite his best efforts to the contrary.  Bradley had taken him to lunch again on Sunday, but he had turned down his offer of tickets to the theater for that evening.  He simply felt too ill to do anything but sleep.

He had barely sat down at his desk when he was once again summoned to Chris's office.  Making a face, Ezra moved stiffly to comply, ignoring the heavy silence that surrounded him.  

"What is it this time, Mr. Larabee?" Ezra said hoarsely.  "This is getting to be quite tiresome."

"Shut up, Ezra," Chris said harshly.

Ezra's curtailed his protest when he saw the look on Larabee's face.  He met the team leader's blue-green gaze steadily, despite the shiver of apprehension that rippled through his insides.

Chris finally dropped his eyes and he toyed with the paper on his desk before looking up again.  "Ezra, I'm afraid you've been suspended.  I'll need your badge and gun."

Ezra froze in shock, not wanting to believe the words Chris had just uttered.  "Excuse me?" he asked in a voice that was shakier than he intended.

"You heard me," Chris said, not wanting to repeat the words.

"For what reason?"  Ezra looked at him, completely bewildered.

"IA is opening an investigation," Chris answered reluctantly.  "They believe you've been selling information to weapons dealers."

Ezra's mouth dropped open.  He had heard this accusation the other night in the gym, but he didn't expect anyone would actually believe it.  "That... that is completely ridiculous!  How can you believe I would do such a thing?!"

"It's out of my hands, Ezra," Chris said, hating that he had to be the one to do this.

"This is Farrell's doing, isn't it?"  Ezra said bitterly.  "What kind of trumped-up 'evidence' does he claim to have?"

Chris looked at him for a moment, then pulled out one of the surveillance photos of Ezra and Bradley Hanford.  He handed it to Ezra, carefully gauging his reaction.

Ezra looked at the picture, then back at Chris, a bewildered expression on his face.  "What does Bradley have to do with this?"  

"He's the suspected weapons dealer," Chris said.

"Bradley?  That's absurd."  Ezra shook his head, confused at the accusation.

"How do you know him?" Chris asked, curious as to where his undercover agent had met a white supremacist. 

"He's my cousin," Ezra explained.  "I stayed the summer with him and his father when I was eight."

"Ezra, your cousin is the head of the Brotherhood for a Pure America," Chris said with a sigh.  "They're a militant group of white supremacists."

"But that's...."  Ezra trailed off as he realized that it could possibly be true.  His cousin had suffered under the influence of his racist father for more than just the summer that Ezra spent with them.  He rubbed a shaking hand over his eyes.  "Aw hell."

Chris eyed his stricken agent with sympathy.  If Ezra was telling the truth, then it had to be quite a blow to realize what kind of man his cousin had become.

Ezra raised his head.  "I never divulged a thing to him," he said, his eyes pleading with Chris to believe him.

"There's nothing I can do about it, Ezra," Chris said, trying to ignore the desperation he could see in his undercover agent's face.  "You were seen with him before both deals were mysteriously cancelled."

A frown wrinkling his brow, Ezra shook his head.  "I did not see Bradley at all after I heard about Friday's bust."

"You knew about it?"

Ezra gave him a wan smile.  "I overheard Agents Vargas and Nagel discussing it in the locker room downstairs Monday night."

"Ezra, Inez saw Hanford with you at the Saloon on Wednesday," Chris explained.  "She said he took you home."

Frowning, Ezra said, "I don't remember seeing him."

"Inez said you were really plastered," Chris pointed out.

Ezra dropped his gaze and when he looked up again, his face was devoid of all emotion.  "I see," he said stonily, reaching inside his jacket to remove his badge and gun.  He dropped both items in front of Chris and stood to leave.

"Ezra," Chris called to him, but couldn't continue when he caught a glimpse of the anguish that lurked beneath the cracking façade.  The distraught man gave him a curt salute then quietly slipped out of the office.  Chris dropped his head forward onto his desk.  Sometimes he really hated his job.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Ezra re-entered the bullpen, ignoring his teammates entirely.  Numbly, he  moved to his desk and sat down, staring at his blank computer screen for a moment before he forced himself into action.  There were only a few personal files in his desk and no mementos or other personal items like those that decorated his teammates' work areas.  He collected the files and dropped them into his briefcase before grabbing his coat off of the back of the chair.  Without a backward look, he walked out of the bullpen, quite likely for the last time.  He kept his shoulders straight and his posture erect, refusing to reveal how truly devastated he was by what had just occurred.

"Shit," Vin swore, tossing his pen onto his desk angrily.  "Did you see the look on his face?"

"What look?" JD asked, giving Vin a puzzled glance.  "He didn't have any look on his face."

"That's the point," Vin said.  "He only looks like that when he's real upset."

"Ez's real good at hiding how he feels," Buck agreed.  

"It's a requirement for undercover work, JD," Josiah explained further.  "He wouldn't get very far if he actually let the bad guys see how he really felt about them."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." JD nodded in comprehension.  "Must be really hard to do that all the time." 

"That's why he's so good at his job," Buck said.

"Maybe too good," Nathan muttered as he headed to the break room for another cup of tea.

"You know, there's one thing I don't get," JD said.  "Chris said that Hanford was at his hotel Wednesday.  How could he be there and at the Saloon at the same time?"

"The FBI guys screwed up, kid," Vin said.  "Chris figures Hanford got away without them noticing."

JD sighed.  "This sucks."

"You won't get any arguments here," Vin agreed.  

Chris walked out his office, a bleak look on his face as he looked at Ezra's empty desk.  

"I'm glad I don't have your job, pard," Buck said sympathetically.

"That was definitely not fun," Chris said with a grimace.  

"He say anything?" Josiah asked.

Chris nodded.  "Hanford is his cousin."

"Damn," Buck said, disappointed.  "So it might just be true."

"Yeah," Chris commiserated.  "Though, he looked completely surprised when I told him what the bastard has been up to."  He paused.  "I just don't know."

"What are we gonna do now?" asked JD.

"We keep after Hanford and Arbella," Chris stated firmly.  "Once we get those bastards out of the way, we can get to the truth of the matter and concentrate on more important things."

"Like gettin' Ez out of this mess," Vin added determinedly.  "I don't know about you, but I ain't lettin' that FBI asshole drag Ez down without a fight."

"Me neither," JD agreed.

Chris smiled when he saw Vin and JD rallying behind their black sheep.  Josiah and Buck seemed to be on the fence, and Nathan had certainly made his opinions plain.  Chris wasn't sure himself what to believe anymore.  He wanted to believe in his undercover agent, but the evidence was telling him otherwise.  Chris sighed.  He had a feeling that the beleaguered agent was going to need all the help he could get.

TBC

* * *


	6. Part 6

  
Black and White  
ATF Universe  
by Violette   


Part 6  
  


* * *

Night was descending as he stood with his forehead pressed against the glass of the French doors, gazing blankly toward the horizon.  Not even the spectacular display provided by the setting sun could lift his spirits from the dark pit into which they had fallen.  Ezra clenched his fists in anger – anger toward himself for being fool enough to think that things would be different this time, and anger toward the FBI for once again screwing with his life.  He felt no animosity toward his teammates;  he knew that they never really trusted him.  They would probably be glad to be rid of him.  

Ezra moved away from the French doors, stopping by his liquor cabinet to get a half-full bottle of Scotch before settling himself on the sofa.  He didn't bother with a glass, drinking straight from the bottle and welcoming the fire that burned its way down his throat as he pondered his situation.  It was likely that he would be out of a job soon, a thought that truly distressed him, for despite his associates' mistrust, he had honestly enjoyed working with them.  He had been happy in his job for the first time in years.  Perhaps that was why he had harbored the small hope that they might stand behind him when the chips were down.

Ezra snorted in disgust.  What a pipe dream that was.  It appeared that his mother had been right.  Mother.  "Shit," Ezra muttered as he took another swig from his bottle.  Maude would, without question, jump at the chance to tell him, _'I told you so'_, and rub his nose in yet another of his failures.  She seemed to thrive on making her 'darlin' boy' feel like a worthless disappointment, and that was the unkindest cut of all.  Ezra lifted his legs onto the sofa, leaning his head back against the armrest.  He was going to have to disappear before his mother got word of this debacle.  His wounded ego was simply not up to dealing with her.

* * * * * * * * * * 

He awoke with a start to the sound of banging.  Confused, Ezra squinted into the darkness and reached automatically for the gun in his shoulder holster.  He rolled off of the couch and onto the floor, landing on the empty Scotch bottle.  "Ouch, damn it!" he cursed, rubbing his side where he had hit the bottle.  Someone was at the door, he realized with chagrin.  Stumbling clumsily in the dark, he made his way to the door, flipping the light on as he peered through the spy-hole.  It took a moment, but the blurry image on the other side of the door finally resolved itself into the figure of Vin Tanner.  With an annoyed sigh, Ezra opened the door.

"Something I can do for you, Mr. Tanner?" he croaked.

Vin's eyes narrowed as he eyed his teammate appraisingly.  "You been drinkin' again?"

Ezra scowled at him.  "Not that it's any of your business, but yes, I have."

"You smell like the back room of the Saloon," Vin said, wrinkling his nose at the strong odor of alcohol emanating from the southerner.

"Did you come here to insult me, Mr. Tanner?"  Ezra drawled sarcastically.  "Because I am most definitely not in the mood.  I have listened to enough disparaging comments for one day."

"Aw hell, Ez," Vin said, looking away.  "I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

"As you can see, I'm quite..." Ezra stopped as a wave of nausea suddenly assaulted him.  "Excuse me," he mumbled, taking off at a run.

Vin shook his head and followed him into the apartment, wincing at the muffled sound of retching coming from the bathroom.  This was the second time in less than a week that Ezra had tried to drink his troubles away, and Vin was concerned for his health as well as his state of mind.  The past couple of weeks had not been easy on the man and he hated to see him doing this to himself.  

Easing out of his leather jacket, Vin ambled toward the couch and sat down, frowning when his foot encountered the empty liquor bottle.  Setting it down on the table, he leaned back with a sigh.  JD had offered to stop to look in on Ezra after work, but Vin insisted that he was the best choice.  Ezra had been fairly receptive to him when he had come by the day after his drinking binge, so he figured the reticent agent might at least talk to him.  

The sound of running water heralded Ezra's return, and Vin smiled in sympathy at his pale friend.  "Feelin' better?"

"Not really," Ezra said, smothering a cough.

"You don't sound too good there, pard."

"I seem to have developed a slight cold," Ezra said with a shrug as he flopped heavily into his overstuffed chair.  "What time is it?"

"Nine-thirty," Vin replied.  

Ezra nodded and closed his eyes.  "Why are you here?"

"I told ya, I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"It could taint your reputation to be seen associating with me,"  Ezra challenged. 

"I don't give a shit what anyone thinks," Vin countered.  "Ain't nobody gonna tell me who I can have for a friend."

Ezra opened his eyes and stared at Vin as if he had just grown another head.  _Friend?_  

Vin saw the look on the other man's face and shook his head.  "Like it or not, Ez, you're stuck with me."

Ezra looked away, realizing that, in his current state, he was far too transparent to the sharp-eyed Texan.  He couldn't afford to let his guard down and trust anyone, no matter how sincere they appeared.  

"That may not be the case for much longer," Ezra said, wincing at the note of self-pity that had crept into his voice, despite his best efforts to quell his emotions.

"You don't get it, do you?" Vin said earnestly.  "I'm your friend and I'm gonna fight this thing with you."  He waited until Ezra turned to face him.  "I ain't gonna leave you high and dry, no matter what you think right now."

Ezra snorted in disbelief.  "Don't try to con a con man, Mr. Tanner.  I heard many of those very words from a former associate just before my previous career fell apart.  He protested the injustice of the accusations against me and proclaimed his never-ending support and friendship."  He laughed bitterly.  "As it turns out, he was simply an IA puppet, getting close to me in an attempt to dig up as much dirt as possible.  So you'll forgive me if I am unconvinced."

The pain that shone plainly in the southerner's eyes told Vin just how badly that incident had hurt him.  It was hardly a surprise that he was so reluctant to trust them, after an incident such as that.    

"Hell, Ez, I'd probably feel the same way if somethin' like that ever happened to me," Vin said sympathetically.  "All's I can tell you is that I ain't like that.  Nobody messes with one of my friends without takin' me on too."

Ezra looked at him, wanting to believe, but still too jaded to allow for the possibility that Vin was right.  He did believe that Vin himself was sincere, since lying was not something the Texan did well.  Ezra could tell that he truly believed what he was saying, but he couldn't accept that the rest of the team felt the same way.  It was obvious that Nathan certainly didn't and he had seen the doubt in the eyes of the others.  He sighed.

"Mr. Tanner, I appreciate your efforts, but I'm afraid that past experience has proven that I can expect assistance from no one."  There was no sign of bitterness in his voice, only sad acceptance.  

"Well, I'm hopin' to prove you wrong," Vin said determinedly.

"You're welcome to try," Ezra said flatly.  "But I'm not fool enough to take that bet."

Vin frowned at him and muttered, "Christ, and I thought Chris was stubborn."  

"I've been called worse," Ezra said with a careless shrug.  "Especially in recent days."

"You ain't been makin' it easy," Vin pointed out.

"And why should I?" Ezra retorted.  "I am the one who is being wronged in this situation."

"You could've talked to us and explained about your cousin." 

"My personal life is my own business," Ezra said heatedly.  "I know nothing about Bradley's alleged racist activities, so there was nothing to tell."

"Do you think the FBI is wrong about him?"

Ezra looked away, then said with a hint of sadness.  "Probably not."

"Why not?"

Ezra sighed.  "You've seen the picture.  Bradley's father was a high-ranking member of the KKK who had no qualms about foisting his beliefs upon others.  I had thought that Bradley felt as I do about such... hateful organizations.  That's what he always claimed, anyway."  He shook his head resignedly.  "Apparently, I was incorrect."

"You like him," Vin observed.

"Yes," Ezra answered simply.

"You think you'll see him again?"

"Perhaps," Ezra said thoughtfully.  "He said he would be in town for a few weeks."

"Might be better if you weren't seen with him," Vin warned.  "The FBI has him under constant surveillance."

"They're watching me as well," Ezra said with a half-smile.  "I spotted them tailing me home from the office.  They are likely still parked across the street in one of their nondescript blue sedans."

Vin grinned.  "They ain't known for originality."

Ezra chuckled, then coughed.

"You gonna be all right?" Vin asked.  "I can stay if you want."

"I'm fine, Mr. Tanner."  Ezra waved his hand dismissively.  "It's nothing that won't be cured with some rest."

"All right," Vin said.  "I'll stop by in a couple of days, okay?"

"You do not need to check up on me," Ezra said defensively.

"I don't mind," Vin said as he rose from the sofa and grabbed his jacket.  "It'll keep me from worryin' about ya."

"If you insist," Ezra relented, secretly pleased at the sharpshooter's concern despite the reluctance in his voice.  It eased slightly the sense of isolation and loneliness that was threatening to overwhelm him.  

"I do," Vin said, laughing at the put out expression on the southerner's pale face.  "Take it easy."

Ezra nodded as Vin let himself out of the apartment, then leaned back in his seat.  "What just happened here?" he asked himself rhetorically.  Vin had been making an effort to draw him out lately and seemed to actually care what happened to him.  It puzzled him until he realized that Vin, too, was something of a loner and as such, had a better grasp than most of how Ezra felt.  It was surprising, since he had never considered the man to be especially friendly in the past.  Vin was quiet to a fault and seemed his complete opposite in every way.  Ezra ran a hand through his hair pensively.  Perhaps they had more in common than he thought.

* * * * * * * * * * 

"It's too quiet in here without Ezra," JD said glumly, breaking the near-silence of the bullpen.  "It's only been three days and I already miss him arguing with everyone."

Nathan snorted and shook his head, earning him glares from both JD and Vin.  

Chris chose that moment to enter the room, lifting an eyebrow when he noticed the staring match.  Clearing his throat, he said, "We have a new lead."

All eyes turned to the blond leader of their group, waiting for him to elaborate.

"Team Six busted Jerry Rodriguez last night," Chris continued.  "It was a small-time deal – just a few dozen handguns – but it's enough to get him some substantial jail time, since he's already been arrested twice before on similar charges.  He was very eager to trade some information in exchange for a lighter sentence."

"Rodriguez is small potatoes," Buck said skeptically.  "What kind of information could he have to trade with?"

"He may be low on the food chain, but he has high ambitions," Chris said.  "He heard about Arbella's possible deal with our buyer and thought he might be able to get a piece of the pie for himself."  Chris smiled.  "He bugged Arbella's limo when his chauffer took it to the gas station and heard about the next scheduled buy."

"Jesus, he's lucky he didn't get caught," Vin said.  "Arbella would have stomped his ass big time."

Buck frowned.  "Are we sure the info's good?  I checked with Little Jimmy and he hasn't heard a word."

"Arbella's playing this one close to the vest, apparently," Chris explained.  "He's not planning to tell his people the specifics until an hour or so before it's supposed to happen."

"When?" Vin asked.

"Friday night," Chris said, a feral smile on his face.  "And we're going to be there to take them down."

Buck slapped his hand on his desk and grinned.  "All right!"

The rest of the men echoed the sentiment, smiling for the first time in days.

"We only have two days and there's a lot of work to do if we're going to be ready for them, so let's get to it," Chris said, pointing toward the conference room.  Without argument, they filed into the room, eager to conclude this case once and for all.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Wretched.  That was the only word to describe how he felt.  Ezra leaned back in his seat and sipped his tea carefully, wishing he could breathe well enough to enjoy the aroma.  His cold had grown steadily worse all week, preventing him from even attempting to do something enjoyable with his enforced time off.  Instead, he had spent most of the past four days in bed or lying on the couch watching what passed for entertainment on the television.  

All of this idle time left him nothing with which to distract himself from his troubles and he found himself becoming depressed at his uncertain future.  No matter what the outcome, his reputation had been tarnished yet again, and Ezra didn't know if he could face another uphill battle to earn the trust of his peers.  "One step forward, two steps back," he whispered hoarsely to himself.  He was finally convinced that Vin was indeed on his side, but what of the others?  He simply didn't know if he had the strength to fight for their respect.

A sharp rap on his door interrupted Ezra's gloomy thoughts.  He frowned.  Vin had not stopped by since Monday and Ezra wasn't sure he was ready for another intense discussion with the stubborn Texan.  He sighed as he got up to open the door, preparing to welcome the other man politely, but was startled to find his cousin standing there instead.  

"Bradley?  I didn't realize you were still in town."  Ezra smiled pleasantly, hiding his dismay at his cousin's presence.  He definitely was not in the mood to see the man tonight.

Bradley's eyebrows lifted in surprise as his gaze swept over Ezra's baggy clothing and flushed features.  "Hello, Ezra," he said with a smile.  "Are you feeling all right?"

Ezra gave him a wan smile and gestured him inside.  "I'm afraid I've picked up a bit of a cold."

"Oh, that's too bad," Bradley said sincerely.  "I was hoping you'd have dinner with me."

"I don't think I could tolerate food at the moment," Ezra replied with a grimace.

"Are you sure?" Bradley eyed him hopefully.

"Quite," Ezra said, sneezing violently into his handkerchief.

"Why don't you let me fix you a hot toddy?" Bradley offered.  "That always helps me when I have a cold."

After a moment's consideration, Ezra nodded his acceptance.  "That sounds delightful.  The liquor cabinet is over there."  He pointed toward the small cabinet as he shuffled back to the couch in his bare feet.

"You have excellent taste in liquor," Bradley said appreciatively as he looked over the contents of the cupboard.

"Only the best," Ezra said.

Bradley laughed.  "Maude taught you well."

Ezra grunted in reply, wishing that Bradley's father had done the same for him.  It hurt him to believe that his cousin could harbor such hatred against others.  Bradley had, at least, attempted to spare his feelings by keeping those beliefs to himself.  That counted for something, Ezra supposed.

After a few minutes, Bradley returned from the kitchen with a steaming mug.  "Here you go, cousin," he said.  "Guaranteed to make you feel better."

"Or at least forget about my suffering for a short while," Ezra agreed as he sipped the warm liquid.  

Bradley sat next to him, watching him with a grin.  "Feels pretty good, eh?"

"It does seem to have a pleasant effect," Ezra said as the warmth began to spread.  

"Good," Bradley sat back, a satisfied expression on his face.

He wasn't sure when it happened, but Ezra found himself feeling lightheaded.  'Fuzzy' was how JD had once described the sensation, and Ezra had to agree.  A not-unpleasant numbness had settled in his body and he began to drift off, watching Bradley's image blur in front of him.  He wondered vaguely if he should be concerned about this, but his brain couldn't seem to hold on to any coherent thoughts long enough to form an opinion.  Finally, his vision dimmed and everything went black.

* * * * * * * * * * 

The low hum of murmuring voices threaded its way into his consciousness as the fog in his brain began to clear.  Ezra opened his eyes and was surprised to find himself in unfamiliar surroundings.  The room in which he lay was dim, but light streamed from beneath a door, providing enough illumination for him to determine that he was no longer in his own apartment.  He attempted to sit, but discovered that his hands were tied behind his back, making the task somewhat difficult.  A sense of panic began to well within him and Ezra took some deep breaths to calm himself.  The voices on the other side of the door grew louder and Ezra recognized Bradley's among them.

"I don't know why it didn't work," his cousin shouted.  "Maybe the stuff didn't mix well with whatever he's taking for his cold.  He was just too out of it to say anything that made sense."

"Well try it again!  It's been hours, maybe it'll work this time," another voice snarled.

"Maybe you should try a bigger dose?"  a third voice questioned.

"There isn't much left," Bradley said.

"Won't matter if we get busted tonight, will it?" the angry voice retorted.

"All right, all right," Bradley said with a sigh.  "I'll try again."  

There was a shuffling sound and the door suddenly opened, flooding the small, dingy room with light.  Ezra squinted against the brightness and gazed up at the dark outline of his cousin.  "Bradley?"

"Hello, Ezra," Bradley said calmly.

"What are you doing?" Ezra asked, his stomach clenching in fear at the sight of the hypodermic in Bradley's hand.

"I'm sorry, cousin, but I need to know if the Feds have found out about our deal," Bradley said, regret evident in his voice.

"Don't do this, Bradley," Ezra pleaded.  

"It's the only way I can be sure," Bradley said.  "They found out about our last two scheduled meets, so I need to be sure they don't know about this one as well."

Ezra's mouth went dry at the implication in his cousin's voice.  "You used me to get the information you needed, didn't you?"

"Yes," Bradley nodded.  "I figured if anyone could tell me what the government authorities were up to, it was you."

"How could you do this to me?" Ezra asked sadly.  "I thought we were friends."

Bradley sighed.  "I don't like doing this Ezra, but I have no choice.  The Cause is more important than friendship."

"That's your father talking," Ezra said disgustedly.

"My father was right, but he didn't support the Cause as completely as I do," Bradley said.  "We need to mobilize an army to fight against the influence of the niggers and the Jews and all the other unfit races in this country.  They are destroying our way of life and must be stopped at all costs."

"How can you have so much hate in you?"  Ezra asked, aghast at the his cousin's speech.

"I don't expect you to understand," he sneered.  "I had always hoped you would join us, but after I saw you dating that nigger whore in college, I knew you would never see the truth."  He grinned in a way that made Ezra shiver.  "I took care of her, though.  I couldn't let you be corrupted by such an unworthy creature."

Ezra felt a chill that spread to his very core.  He remembered the woman of whom Bradley spoke all too well.  He had met Monique during his junior year of college, while practicing piano in one of the music rooms.  She was the product of an interracial marriage and he had been intrigued by her exotic looks and wonderful singing voice, and had boldly asked her out one day after a practice session.  She had smiled at him and agreed, beginning a relationship that had lasted for most of the school year. 

Ezra looked at his cousin in horror. "What did you do?"  

"I merely sent her some letters and pictures and told her what would happen if she didn't leave you," Bradley said with a shrug.  "She was a stubborn bitch, though.  I finally had to take more drastic action."

"No," Ezra whispered.

"I had some of our Brothers beat you up a bit one night, then I sent her a picture of it," Bradley smiled, pleased with himself.  "I think that finally convinced her."

Shocked, Ezra stared at Bradley in disbelief.  He remembered the incident and had, at the time, considered it to be a simple mugging.  Monique had broken up with him shortly afterward, without any explanation, and had not returned to school the following September.  He had been devastated and it had taken a long time before he felt like dating again.  He glared at Bradley.  "You had no right!"

"I had every right, cousin," Bradley said indignantly.  "I wasn't going to allow a relative of mine to be corrupted by one of them."

The way Bradley said the word 'them' made Ezra feel ashamed to be related to the man.  

"Of course, after she left you, we had to make sure she wouldn't try to seduce another white man, so we took care of her permanently," Bradley said cheerfully.

Ezra gaped at his cousin.  "You killed her?"

"Of course," Bradley said, giving Ezra a puzzled look.  "This is war, after all."

"You're insane," Ezra whispered, staggered by the lengths to which his cousin would go in support of his 'cause'.

Bradley looked at him sadly.  "I knew you wouldn't understand."  Moving closer, he took advantage of Ezra's shock to quickly inject the contents of the syringe into his arm.

* * * * * * * * * * * 

"That was the last of it, Hanford," the angry voice snarled.  "You sure it worked?"

"Yes," Bradley said.  "It worked perfectly before.  There's no reason to believe it failed this time.  The Feds don't know about the deal, so we're safe."  He looked at the other man and frowned.  John was a loyal member of the Brotherhood, but he wasn't know for his patience.  "Relax, John.  By this time Saturday, we'll be on our way home with a nice stockpile of weapons."

"I hope so," John said grudgingly.  "What about him?"  He pointed to the room where Ezra was being held.

"We'll have to leave him here until after the deal," Bradley said.

"You're letting him go?"  John asked skeptically.

"He's my cousin," Bradley said simply as he put on his coat.  "You and Sam stay here.  I'll let you know when it's time to do business."  

As soon as the door had shut behind Bradley, John turned to Sam and said, "I don't know about you, but I'm not sure I want to trust any info he might have gotten with that drug.  If it didn't work the first time he tried it, how can we be sure it worked the second time?  I think he's gone soft 'cause it's his cousin."

"So what can we do?" Sam asked with a shrug.

"There are other ways of getting information," John said with a smile, cracking his knuckles.

Sam grinned.  "I like the way you think."

* * * * * * * * * * 

He hadn't thought it was possible, but Ezra felt even more terrible than he had after Bradley had left.  As soon as his cousin was out the door, his two associates had violently awakened Ezra and dragged him from the thin mattress, pummeling him with their fists while repeatedly asking him the same questions.  Despite his efforts to convince them otherwise, they didn't immediately believe that he was telling the truth about being unaware of any planned raids.  Finally, after what seemed like hours of pain, the two men dropped him in a bloody heap on the floor and left the room, reassured that their plans were safe from federal intervention.

Ezra rolled onto his side, feeling sharp pain stab through his chest with the effort, possibly from some cracked ribs.  Grunting at the pain his movement had produced, he carefully eased himself up until he was lying on the bed once again.  Everything hurt, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the pain in his heart.  In a matter of minutes, he had discovered that his beloved cousin was not only a racist, but a murderer as well.  His heart ached as he thought of Monique and how she had been murdered because of him.  She hadn't deserved that.  

Tears slowly trickled down his face as Ezra contemplated just how much of a fool he truly was.  He had never once suspected Bradley's true nature, and worse, he had provided his cousin with the information he needed to avoid being caught.  His friendship with Bradley – or what he had believed to be friendship – had  blinded him to the truth.  It didn't speak well of his abilities as an agent that he had allowed this to happen.  And what of the innocent people who would suffer because of his failure?  Ezra cried out as a deep, wracking cough shook him, sending intense pain ripping through his side.  Black spots crowded his vision, increasing in number until the blackness was complete.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Bradley Hanford was a happy man.  He was about to get the weapons he needed for his people to take the Cause to the next stage.  Action was needed to draw attention to the plight of the white man in today's society, and he would finally have the tools he needed to do the job.  His smile faded when he thought about his cousin.  He liked Ezra a lot and he hated what he had been forced to do to get the information he needed.  It was too bad he didn't believe in the Cause.  With his connections and training, he would have made an excellent addition to the brotherhood.  His cousin's enviable ability to make money in the stock market would have been especially welcome, since gathering funds to support their efforts was often difficult.  Bradley sighed.  Maybe he would try convincing him one more time, after this business was concluded.  

* * * * * * * * * * 

"We got action," Vin whispered into his microphone.  From his perch atop the warehouse, he had spotted several vehicles approaching the rear loading docks.  "Two vans and two cars coming your way."

"Gotcha," Chris replied as he caught sight of the players.

The two ATF teams tensed as Arbella and his prospective customers exited their vehicles and prepared to make their exchange.  

"Wait for my signal," Chris whispered into his microphone as he watched Hanford and Arbella shake hands.  There was too much at stake to chance screwing up this bust by moving in prematurely.  So, they waited while Hanford and his two associates examined the weapons.  Finally, the blond man announced his satisfaction with the merchandise and handed Arbella a black leather satchel.

"Now!" Chris shouted.  The two ATF teams sprang into action, converging on the startled dealmakers, who, upon recognizing the threat, dove for cover and began firing on the intruders.  The firefight was intense, but short-lived.  Within minutes, it was over, leaving several of the criminals dead or wounded on the ground.  

"Everyone okay?" Chris asked.  One by one, each of the men checked in, until there was only one left.  "Vin?"

"Here," Vin's voice called from behind him. 

Chris turned to greet him, but then frowned at the sight of his sharpshooter clutching a bloody hand to his left thigh.  "Shit.  You okay?"

Vin grinned at him.  "It's just a flesh wound."

Chris rolled his eyes and took Vin's arm, assisting him over to some crates where he sat down with a groan.  "Nathan," he called to the team medic.  "Smartass here needs some help."

"I'm fine," Vin said automatically.

Chris snorted and ignored the dirty look Vin sent his way as Nathan began checking his injury.  "How'd you get hit in the leg?  You were supposed to be up on the roof."

"I was," Vin said, grimacing as Nathan pressed a bandage into place on his leg.  "But one of 'em was trying to sneak out the side door, so I climbed down the fire escape to get a better line on him."

"And got yourself a hole in the leg for your trouble," Nathan growled at him.

Vin shot him a glare, then looked at Chris.  "We get 'em all?"

"Yeah," Chris replied.  "Hanford's dead."

"Damn," Vin said.

"I guess he took offense at being arrested by a black man," Chris explained disgustedly.  "He drew on Nelson even though he had no chance."

Vin looked toward the center of the warehouse, spotting Carl Nelson easily, since he was the only African-American member of Team Two.  "Poetic justice," he said finally.

"Yeah, but I would have liked to talk to him," Chris sighed.  "He's the only one who can say for sure what's goin' on with Ezra."

"'Cept for Ezra," Vin added.

"Maybe his lackeys know something," Buck said, joining the conversation.  "We got two of 'em in custody."

"Good," Chris said, his expression turning dangerous.  "I need some answers."

TBC

* * *


	7. Part 7

  
Black and White  
ATF Universe  
by Violette   


Part 7  
  


* * *

It was completely dark when Ezra awoke again.  Confused, he attempted to sit up, gasping at the sharp pain that rocketed through him.  "Aw hell," he croaked when he had finally caught his breath.  Carefully, he eased himself to a sitting position, leaning gently on the wall against which the narrow bed was situated.  

There were no voices, no sounds whatsoever, coming from the other side of the door, so Ezra assumed his captors were either asleep or not present.  He hoped for the latter, since he wasn't thrilled with the idea of a repeat performance of the earlier interrogation session.  Quietly, he pushed himself to his feet, stifling the groan that wanted to escape his throat when he began to move.  

His head swam and he was unsteady on his feet, but Ezra was able to make his way to the door without mishap.  Pressing his ear to the wooden surface, he listened for several minutes before he was certain that there was no one on the other side.  His hands were still bound behind him, so Ezra turned his back to the door, fumbling awkwardly for the doorknob.  He twisted it sharply in both directions to no avail.  It was securely locked.

Resignedly, Ezra made his way back to the creaky bed, his mind whirling as he contemplated his predicament.  The first thing he needed to do was free his hands, since there was little he could do to escape while they were restrained behind his back.  He began a careful, awkward search of the room that yielded nothing that would help to free him of his bonds.  With a sigh of frustration, Ezra returned to the bed and considered his options.  He couldn't untie his hands, but he might be able to reposition them.  Slowly, he lay down on his side and began to slide his hands down under his hips and toward his feet, grateful for the natural flexibility that allowed him to perform such a maneuver.  Grimacing at the pain in his ribs, Ezra finally pulled his hands around his feet and lay back on the bed, breathing heavily from the exertion while he waited for the stars swirling before his eyes to fade.

Another bout of coughing sent more pain tearing through him and it was several minutes before Ezra was able to move again.  Gingerly, he lifted himself off of the bed and returned to the door, examining it for any weaknesses.  He had nothing with which to pick the lock and both the door and the frame appeared to be in good condition.  Nevertheless, he had to try to escape and inform the others of the impending weapons deal, if wasn't already too late.

Ezra moved back, then let loose a stepping side kick into the old-fashioned panel door.  The impact ricocheted through his body, reawakening the burning pain in his side, but he continued his efforts, ramming his bare foot into the panels over and over until, finally, fatigue and pain overwhelmed him and he was forced to rest.  His feet throbbed from the repeated collisions with the door, but Ezra was too tired to notice as he slipped deeply into exhausted slumber.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Vin hobbled into the office on his crutches.  "Hi guys," he greeted his teammates.

"Hey, Vin," Buck said dully.

Vin looked up sharply, noticing for the first time the apprehension that hung in the air.  "What's goin' on?"  

"The FBI is claiming jurisdiction," Josiah explained.  "They won't let us question Hanford's men.  Chris tried all weekend to get in to see them."

"Shit, I bet he's pissed," Vin commented with a frown as he made his way to his desk.

"Pissed don't even begin to cover it," Buck said.  "He's upstairs now meeting with Travis and Farrell."

"Hey!"  Nathan said, catching sight of Vin as he returned from the break room with a cup of tea.  "You're supposed to be home resting!"

"I spent all weekend resting," Vin said defensively.  "I was so bored I was climbin' the walls."

"You ain't supposed to be working," Nathan said with a frown.

"I'm just sittin' here," Vin grumbled.  

Nathan opened his mouth to comment further, but was interrupted by Chris's entrance.  The blond leader stormed into the bullpen with a grim look on his face, ignoring his men as he retreated into his office and slammed the door behind him.

"Uh-oh," JD said.  "Chris doesn't look too happy."

Buck snorted.  "Ya think?"

Vin eyed the closed door with concern.  He wasn't sure he wanted to know what put that look on his friend's face, but he decided he'd better find out.  With a sigh, he pulled himself to his feet and limped toward Chris's office.  

"Chris?"  Vin poked his head inside the office, frowning at the sight of Chris sitting with his head in his hands.  "What's the matter?"

Chris looked up at him, then shook his head sadly.  

Vin felt a ripple of alarm stirring in the pit of his stomach.  "What?"

Chris sighed.  "Hanford's men fingered Ezra as their inside source."  


"No way!" Vin argued.  "That's impossible!"

"I saw the interrogation tapes," Chris said defeatedly.  "They implicated him by name and picked his photo out of two dozen mug shots."

"Shit!" Vin said as he sagged against the door.  "What now?"

"IA is getting a warrant for his arrest as we speak," Chris said flatly.  "There's nothing we can do."

"It has to be a setup," Vin said.  "Ez wouldn't give up info like that."

"IA doesn't see it that way," Chris countered.  "They have evidence and eyewitness statements... It's more than enough to take him down."  


"You don't believe that crap, do you?"  Vin asked incredulously.

"What am I supposed to think?" Chris said hotly.  "I don't want to believe it, but the evidence says otherwise."

"I don't give a shit what the evidence says!" Vin said angrily.  "Ez is my friend and I trust him.  You ain't never trusted him."  He pushed himself away from the wall and turned to leave.

"Vin," Chris warned.  "Don't do anything stupid."

Vin turned and glared at him.  "Standin' up for a friend ain't stupid."

Chris stared at Vin's retreating back and couldn't help but agree with him on that point.  He only wished he had as much faith in his undercover agent as Vin had.  

* * * * * * * * * * 

The four men watched silently as Vin limped angrily out of Chris's office.  He paused at his desk only long enough to grab his crutches and jacket before leaving.  

"Damn," Buck said somberly, running his hand over his mustache. 

"Told ya," Nathan remarked.  They had all heard enough of the argument coming from Chris's office to get an idea what was happening.  

"Shut up, Nathan!" JD shouted, jumping up from his desk and following Vin out of the bullpen.

"JD!" Buck started to follow him.

"Leave him be, brother," Josiah suggested.  "He just needs some time to process what's happening."

"I suppose," Buck said, doubt creeping into his voice.

"It's not easy for him, Buck," Josiah said.  "He looks up to all of us.  Even Ezra.  It's hard for him to understand how this could happen."

"Vin ain't takin' it too well, either," Buck said.

"Those two are closer to Ezra than the rest of us," Josiah noted.  

Chris walked out of his office and joined them.  "I take it you heard?"

"Hard not to, pard," Buck said sympathetically.

"Vin take off?"

"Yeah," Buck said.  "He stormed out of here in a huff a couple minutes ago."

"JD followed him," Josiah added.

Chris swore softly.  "I hope they don't get themselves in trouble."

"You think they went to Ezra's place?" Buck inquired.

Chris nodded.  "Probably."

"What for?" Nathan asked.

"IA's getting an arrest warrant," Chris said.

"They got evidence?" Buck asked.

"Yep," Chris replied.

"Damn," Josiah said sadly.  

"What are we going to do?" Buck asked, his forehead creased with worry.

"Nothing," Chris said simply.  "It's out of our hands."

"But..." Buck began.

Chris held up his hand to forestall Buck's argument.  "IA has all the evidence they need, Buck.  There's nothing we can do but keep Vin and JD out of their way.  Otherwise, they might get dragged down along with Ezra."

"I was hoping they were wrong about Ezra's involvement," Josiah said with a sigh.

"Hanford's boys have nothing to gain by lying about it," Chris answered with a weary shrug.

"It was plenty obvious to me," Nathan said stubbornly, trying to dispel the strange sense of loss he was feeling.

Chris turned away and headed for his office to get his coat and keys.  "I'm going over to Ez's place.  That's probably where Vin and JD are headed."

"Want some company?" Buck offered.

"Nah," Chris said.  "I'll handle this myself."  He looked at his watch.  "It's almost quitting time anyway.  Why don't you guys call it a day?"

"See you at the Saloon later?"  Buck asked.

"Yeah," Chris said.  "I think I'm gonna need a drink after this."

Buck nodded as Chris walked briskly from the room, not envying his friend the confrontation that was sure to come.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Chris walked slowly up the sidewalk toward the two men sitting on the steps, not liking the look on their faces.

"He ain't here," Vin said from his seat on the stairs in front of Ezra's condo.

Chris stopped in front of him.  "What?"

"Just what I said," Vin said sharply.  "He ain't here."

"His Jag's still in the garage," JD added helpfully, "but he's not in his apartment."

"Damn," Chris said softly, running a hand through his hair.  "How'd you get in, if he isn't home?"

"Picked the lock," Vin said with a shrug.  "Don't think he took off, though," he added after a long silence.  "His stuff's still there."  


"Did you check for his luggage?"  Chris asked.

Vin glared at him.  "It's all there."

Chris sighed, trying to think of something to say.  He didn't like this situation, but there was no way Vin was going to understand his position.  The man was stubborn and once he had made up his mind, there was no changing it.  Normally, he was proud of his friend's tenacity, but in this case, Chris believed that it would only cause him pain.

The despondent silence was broken by the screeching of tires as two sedans, one blue, and one black, pulled up in front of the building.  The three men groaned simultaneously when they saw Agent Farrell and Howard Kendrick from Internal Affairs step out of the blue vehicle.

"What are you doing here, Larabee?"  Farrell snarled.  "Standish is no longer your concern."

"He's still one of my men," Chris said icily.  "It's my job to inform him of the charges."

"Not anymore," Kendrick said, pushing his way past Chris.

"You're wastin' your time," Vin called after the men who were making their way to Ezra's door.  "He ain't there."

"Where is he?!" Farrell demanded.

"Damned if I know," Vin drawled, shrugging casually.

Farrell's face began to turn red.  "You're covering for him, aren't you?!  You won't get away with this!"

Vin rolled his eyes and JD hid a smile at the agent's agitation.  

Chris gazed at him coolly.  "I warned you once about  making accusations without evidence."

Farrell paled significantly under the piercing stare.  "Travis will hear about this," he sputtered.

Vin and JD snickered. 

"There's no sign of him," Kendrick said as he exited the apartment building, sending a dark glare at the three other ATF agents.  "Do you gentlemen know where he is?"

"Nope," Vin answered.

JD shook his head.  "We just got here ourselves."

Chris only glared at him.  He and the IA agent had butted heads more than once over issues with his team.  The man simply didn't understand that the rulebook didn't always work in the field, and that sometimes the rules had to be bent a little in order to get results.  Team Seven's unorthodox methods had run afoul of those rules on more than one occasion, much to IA's displeasure. 

"You _will_ let us know if you see him?" Kendrick said, making it more of a command than a question.

Chris tilted his head and gave him a humorless smile.

Kendrick took in the look on Chris's face and decided he didn't want to argue with the man.  He scowled at them and hurried back into Ezra's condo.

"Damn, Chris," Vin said appreciatively.  "You almost made him piss his pants with that glare of yours."

JD snorted.  "Yeah, and did you see the look on Farrell's face?"

The two men laughed, but Chris frowned at them.  "Anything you boys want to tell me?"

The laughter ceased abruptly and Chris was faced with a pair of matching glares.

"We haven't seen him," JD said angrily.

"Okay, okay," Chris said, raising his hands apologetically.  "That was out of line."

"We ain't that stupid, cowboy," Vin said, still a little miffed.  "We just wanted to show Ez that we're on his side."

"I know," Chris agreed.  "This thing's just got me a little on edge."

Vin eyed him for a moment then nodded.  "Yeah."

"Come on," Chris said with a faint smile.  "I'll buy you a drink."

The two younger men nodded and followed their blond leader down the walk, ignoring the agents who rushed past them on their way to search Ezra's apartment.  

* * * * * * * * * * 

He didn't know how much time had passed, but Ezra figured it had been at least a few days, judging by the level of thirst he felt.  Bradley had left a small bottle of water in the room the last time he had been there, but Ezra had had nothing since he finished it some time ago.  If he hadn't been sick, he was sure he would be feeling hungry by now as well.  He was thankful that his cold had kept him from eating or drinking much prior to his abduction, since he also hadn't visited a bathroom since before his captors had departed. 

There was no light in the room and none had filtered from beneath the door since Bradley's men had left, so Ezra had no idea if it was night or day.  He had slept when he was tired, which seemed to be often, and spent his waking hours working the ropes that still tied his hands and beating against the door in an attempt to escape his prison.  But thus far, his efforts had proved fruitless. 

Ezra dropped heavily onto the bed as another fit of coughing took hold of him.  The bouts seemed to be occurring with greater frequency and he was beginning to feel the telltale heaviness in his chest that indicated pneumonia.  He knew he had to escape soon, before he became incapacitated by his illness.  As the coughing subsided, Ezra forced himself to stand, limping determinedly back to the door to renew his efforts.  With a strength borne of frustration, he attacked the door again, slamming his foot violently against the panels until one of them ultimately gave way.

The unexpected passage of his foot through the wood knocked Ezra off balance and he crashed bodily into the intact portion of the door.  Clutching his ribs as best he could with his bound hands, Ezra slowly extricated his bruised and bloody foot from the splintered hole.  He lowered himself carefully to his knees and pushed his hands into the hole, gritting his teeth against the pain as he reached up toward the deadbolt that secured the door.  His fingers brushed against the cool metal as he strained to reach the knob that would grant him his freedom.  Finally, after much maneuvering and cursing, his probing fingers grasped the knob and twisted it open.  The resulting click brought a relieved smile to Ezra's face.  At that moment, it was the best sound he had ever heard.

Pulling himself stiffly to his feet, Ezra tried the doorknob, sagging with relief when the door swung open into the outer room.  He stretched out his arms, groping blindly along the walls until he located a light switch and turned it on.  The flood of light momentarily blinded him, but his eyes slowly adjusted and Ezra was able to examine his surroundings more closely.  

The room was larger than the one in which he had been imprisoned and was sparsely furnished with a scarred wooden table and several rickety wooden chairs.  The only window in the room had been boarded up, allowing no natural light to enter.  The door on the opposite side of the room opened into a large, dark hall, filled with dusty chairs and small tables.  It looked like it might have been a lounge or dance club at one time, judging by the wide expanse of dust-covered wood flooring that occupied center of the room.  

Ezra turned back into the room with the table, sinking into a chair as another coughing fit shook him.  The deep coughs felt as if they came all the way from the soles of his feet and he didn't think they would ever end, but after several long minutes, they finally subsided and he lifted his head wearily from his hands.  A pair of small glass bottles on the table caught his attention and Ezra felt his anger begin to build.  He pulled his sleeve over his hand to avoid ruining any fingerprints that might be on the bottle and lifted the rubber-topped vial carefully.  Staring at the small amount of liquid that remained inside, his anger mixed with grief as he thought about how Bradley had so callously used him to further his 'cause'.  Ezra fought the urge to fling the vial against the wall, dropping it awkwardly into his pocket instead.  It might be the only thing that would prove his lack of complicity to his teammates.  Somehow, it was important to him that they knew he wasn't a willing participant in Bradley's madness.  

Turning his attention to the other vial, he reached out and picked it up, eyeing the contents uncertainly.  This one appeared to contain a small amount of white powder.  Ezra carefully unscrewed the cap and sniffed at it experimentally.  It had no apparent odor – not that his clogged nasal passages would have detected it anyway – so he put the cap back on and dropped it into his pocket with the other bottle.  

With a last look around the room, Ezra stood and began limping toward a door marked with an unlit exit sign.  It seemed to take forever, but he finally reached the door and turned the knob hopefully.  His smile grew when the door swung open with a loud squeal and he emerged into an empty parking lot.  Ezra lifted his gaze heavenward, taking solace in the stars that winked at him from the night sky.  He was free.

With a reluctant sigh, Ezra pulled his gaze down to the deserted street in front of him.  He had escaped his prison, but he had yet to reach safety.  Bradley and his men could return at any time and he had no intention of being anywhere nearby when that happened.  

Judging by the paleness of the horizon, it was relatively early in the evening.  The boarded-up nightclub was situated at the fringes of a large industrial area, and Ezra had a vague idea of where he might be and turned toward what he thought was the correct direction.  Ignoring the pain that afflicted his body, he began limping along the silent street, unaware of the bloody footprints he was leaving on the pavement.

* * * * * * * * * * 

The six men sat at their usual table, but without their usual joviality, as they tried not to think about Ezra's impending arrest.  It was impossible, though, since the empty seat at the table was a constant reminder of his absence.  

"Would you like another round?"  Inez asked hesitantly.    They had explained the situation to her in response to her inquiry about Ezra's whereabouts and, though she understood their reasons, she was concerned by how much liquor they had consumed.  It was not typical of them to drink so much on a Monday night.

"Thanks darlin'," Buck said, slurring his words slightly, "but I think it's time we got our asses home.  Right guys?"

The rest of them reluctantly agreed and began preparations to leave.

"Do you need some taxis?"

"No thanks, Inez," Nathan answered.  "I'll drive them."  He had restricted himself to only one beer early in the evening, since he wasn't about to get drunk over the likes of Ezra Standish.

"Are you sure?"

Nathan eyed his semi-inebriated teammates.  "Yeah," he said with a smile.  "I can handle this bunch."

"All right,"  Inez said as she began to clear the table.

She watched sadly as Nathan hustled the somber group into his car and drove off to deliver them to their homes.  It hurt to see her favorite customers in such a state and she whispered a quiet prayer that, somehow, everything would be right again.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Ezra looked at the street sign and blinked, waiting for the blurry image to resolve itself.  A smile graced his swollen lips when the letters resolved themselves into something familiar.  He knew where he was now.  It had taken him hours of walking but help was finally near.  It had been an agonizing trip, limping along the cracked and broken sidewalks, avoiding any strangers he saw for fear of being delayed in his trek toward safety.  He had lost count of the times he had been forced to stop while his body betrayed him with debilitating coughs that threatened to put a premature end to his journey.  But now, the end was near and with weary determination in his step, Ezra continued down the street.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Vin awoke with a start, squinting into the darkness warily for whatever had awakened him.  After a few moments, he shook his head disgustedly and nestled back into his pillow.  He had definitely had too much to drink if he was hearing things.  His eyes drifted shut and he was nearly asleep when he heard a thumping sound coming from his hallway.  

Instantly wide awake, Vin reached for his gun on the nightstand and made his way silently into the other room, pausing at his front door to listen.  After an interminable minute, the thump was repeated, accompanied by an odd shuffling sound.  Gripping his weapon tightly, Vin quietly disengaged the locks and yanked the door open, poking his head out the door for a quick look.  

With a stream of curses, Vin stuck his gun in the waistband of his sweatpants and hobbled into the hallway.  There, lying motionless on the floor, was Ezra Standish.

"Ez?"  Vin reached down, mindful of his injured leg, and touched the prone man on the shoulder.  Ezra groaned in response and rolled sideways, giving Vin a good look at his face in the light of the hallway.  "Aw shit," Vin said when he saw his friend's battered countenance.  "Hang on, pard.  I got ya."

Grabbing Ezra under the arm, Vin dragged him into his apartment, muscling him onto the couch with great difficulty.  He frowned when he caught sight of the ropes encircling Ezra's wrists.  "What the hell?" he muttered to himself as he reached for the phone and dialed Chris's cell phone.

"What?" Chris's voice growled at the other end of the line.

"Chris, it's me," Vin said.  "I need you to get over here right now."

"You know what time it is?" Chris said sharply.

"Chris... Ez's here," Vin said softly.

There was a muffled curse on the other end followed by a sigh.  "I'm on my way."

Vin hung up the phone and moved back to the couch, spreading a blanket over his friend.  He placed a hand on Ezra's forehead, pushing the sweat-dampened hair back and cursing at the heat he felt there.  The southerner moaned and began coughing so fiercely that Vin winced in sympathy.  "Damn, Ez," he said comfortingly.  "You sound like shit."

"Mr... Tanner," Ezra gasped.

"Right here," Vin answered, moving into his line of sight.

"I made it," Ezra mumbled hoarsely.

"What happened?"

"Bradley..." Ezra trailed off into another coughing fit.

Vin hurried into the kitchen to get a glass of water.  Lifting Ezra's head, he helped him sip from the glass.

"Thank... you," Ezra said softly.

"Hanford do this to you?" Vin asked, setting the glass down on the coffee table.

Ezra nodded, the anguish on his face plain to see.  "Used... me."

Vin cursed silently, wishing Hanford was alive so that he could suffer more for what he had done to Ezra.

"My fault..." Ezra muttered.  

Vin watched in distress as tears began to slide down the southerner's face.  Turning away, he hobbled into the bathroom, returning with a wet towel.  Gently, he wiped Ezra's face, then draped it across his forehead.  "Hang in there, pard."

The sharp rapping on the door announced Chris's arrival.  Vin opened the door to admit him, gesturing toward the sofa.  Chris stopped short at the sight of his agent lying huddled under a blanket.  "What the hell is going on?" 

Vin shrugged as he moved beside him.  "Don't know.  I found him in the hallway like this."

"He's a mess," Chris said grimly.  "We'd better get him to the hospital."

Vin nodded.  "Yeah.  Didn't think I could get 'im into the jeep by myself."

"Give me a hand," Chris said as he reached for Ezra's shoulder.

"Careful, his hands are tied," Vin warned.  "They looked bad, so I figured I'd leave it to the docs to get rid of them ropes."

"Shit," Chris said as the blanket fell away, revealing the torn and bloody wrists.

Together, Vin and Chris managed to get Ezra into the back seat of Chris's Ram.  Vin sat with him, cradling the unconscious man's head in his lap, as Chris drove to the hospital.

* * * * * * * * * * 

"How is he?" JD asked anxiously as he hurried into the waiting room.  Buck followed at a more sedate pace.

"Don't know yet," Vin said.  "The doctor is still with him."

"What's wrong with him?" JD asked.

"Looks like someone worked him over pretty good," Vin said.  "He was burnin' up and coughin' real bad, too."

JD dropped tiredly into a chair next to Vin.  "I hope he's okay."

"Me too, kid," Vin said.

Buck made his way toward Chris, who stood near the window, looking out into the night.  "You all right, pard?"

"Yeah," Chris replied.  "The rest of the guys comin'?"

Buck nodded.  "They're on their way."

"Nathan?"

"Him too," Buck said with a hint of a smile.

"I'm not calling Travis until morning," Chris said firmly.  "He can deal with those IA bozos then."

"Doesn't sound like Ez's gonna be leavin' anytime soon," Buck said.

"Brothers," Josiah nodded in greeting as he strode into the room.  "How is our lost sheep?"

"No word yet," Vin said.  "He didn't look too good, though."

Josiah shook his head sadly.  "Brother Ezra has quite a knack for finding trouble."

"I think this time it found him," Vin said.

Nathan made his entrance at the same time as the doctor and hurried to stand with his friends while the doctor addressed them.

"Mr. Larabee?"  the tall, gray-haired man called.

"Right here," Chris said, moving to stand in front of him.  "Doctor...?"

"Tyler," he supplied, shaking Chris's hand.  

"How is he?" Vin asked anxiously.

The doctor swept his gaze over the group of concerned men.  "Mr. Standish is a very sick man.  He has pneumonia, which has been untreated for some time.  We've started him on antibiotics and put him on a ventilator to assist his breathing and give his body a chance to rest."

"Damn, I knew he sounded bad," Vin muttered.

"He has also, if you'll excuse the expression, had the crap beaten out of him," Dr. Tyler said.  "Several of his ribs were cracked and his kidneys are badly bruised.  We pulled a lot of splinters out of his foot and arm, and stitched up several deep gashes on his leg."  He looked up at them.  "He's extremely dehydrated, which hasn't helped the pneumonia any.  I'd say he was very lucky that you brought him in when you did."

"Will he be all right?" JD asked hesitantly.

"Given time and rest, he has a good chance," the doctor replied.  "Pneumonia can be tricky, though.  If he responds to the antibiotics, he should be fine."

"Can we see him?" asked Buck.

"I'll have the nurse let you know when he's settled into a room."

"Thank you, doctor," Josiah said.

Dr. Tyler nodded and began to walk away, then stopped and took two items from the nurse who stood in the doorway.  He turned back to Chris.  "Mr. Larabee.  We found these in Agent Standish's pocket.  I thought they might be important."  He handed Chris a plastic bag containing two glass bottles along with a second bag containing Ezra's clothes.  "We only handled them with gloves."

"Thank you," Chris said, studying the contents of the first bag as the doctor returned to his patients.

"What is it?" Vin asked.

"I don't know," Chris replied.  He handed the bag to Nathan.  "What do you think?"

Nathan examined the bottles through the clear plastic.  "One of these is an injectable liquid of some kind.  You can tell by the rubber top on the bottle."  He pointed to the red circle of rubber in the center of the metal lid.  "This other one looks like powder... could be a drug."

"Can you run it down to forensics?"  Chris asked.

Nathan nodded.  "I'll have them put a rush on it."  Stuffing the bag in his pocket, Nathan briskly left the waiting room.

"I got a feelin' about them bottles, cowboy," Vin said, his eyes on Nathan's retreating back.

"Me, too," Chris said with a grimace.  "I think things might have just gotten more complicated."

The five men settled into the uncomfortable plastic chairs to wait, silently contemplating the situation.

TBC

* * *


	8. Part 8

  
Black and White  
ATF Universe  
by Violette   


Part 8  
  


* * *

"Geez, he looks awful," JD said as he entered the small hospital room.  

Ezra lay still on the bed, the bruises on his face starkly evident against his pale skin.  Tubes and wires sprouted from many parts of his body, emphasizing his weakened condition.  The six men crowded into the room, surrounding the bed where the southerner lay.  JD and Vin took up positions on opposite sides of the bed, near Ezra's head.  Chris smiled faintly, wondering if they had consciously taken up such protective positions around their downed friend.

"He's gonna hate wakin' up to that catheter," Buck said, attempting to lighten the mood.

"What happened here?" JD asked curiously, pointing to the thick bandages on Ezra's wrists.

"His hands were tied when he showed up at my place," Vin said, an angry gleam in his eyes that promised retribution upon the person who hurt his friend.

"Damn," JD said softly.

The men made themselves as comfortable as possible, lending their silent support to the unconscious agent, until they eventually succumbed to sleep.  That was how Orrin Travis found them when he arrived several hours later.  Vin Tanner alone stirred at his entrance, his sharp eyes scanning the room for the source of the disturbance.  A look of surprise crossed his face when he noticed the Assistant Director standing near the door.  Quietly, he stood and made his way toward the older man, gesturing toward the hallway with his hand.  Travis nodded and exited the room as silently as he had entered, followed closely by Vin.

"What are you doing here, sir?" Vin asked curiously, noting that it was only five AM.  

"I have sources here at the hospital, who alert me whenever any of you boys are admitted," Travis explained.  "... in the event that you fail to contact me within a reasonable period of time."  He favored Vin with a penetrating stare.  "Care to tell me why I wasn't informed of Agent Standish's reappearance?"

Vin reddened slightly under his scrutiny.  "Uh, Chris decided to wait 'til morning, seein's how Ez ain't goin' anywhere for a while."  He shrugged uncomfortably.  "He didn't want to wake you in the middle of the night."

"And what is it that has brought my agent here?"

"Somebody did a real number on him," Vin said, running a hand through his long hair.  "He showed up at my place all messed up with his hands tied."

"How is he?"  Travis asked, frowning with concern.

"Pretty rough," Vin replied.  "Got pneumonia and some busted ribs."

Travis sighed.  "I'm going to have to inform Internal Affairs and Special Agent Farrell of this turn of events."

Vin nodded reluctantly.

"I'll try to keep them from questioning him for a few days until he's well enough to speak to them," he offered.  

"Thank you," Vin said gratefully.  

Travis looked at him thoughtfully.  "What do you think happened?"

"I think Ezra's cousin set him up," he answered bluntly.  "I asked him if Hanford was the one who did this to him and he said yes.  And he had a couple of bottles in his pocket that Nate thinks might be some kind'a drugs."

"Drugs?"  Travis asked skeptically.

Vin nodded.  "He ran 'em over to forensics to get 'em analyzed."

"So you think Hanford might have attempted to force information from Agent Standish?"  Travis prodded.

"He sure as hell wouldn't tell 'im anythin' willingly," Vin said irritably.

"That's not what Hanford's associates are saying," Travis reminded him.

Vin snorted disdainfully.  "They know they'll get charged with assaulting a federal officer if they tell the truth."

"Perhaps," Travis allowed.  "But without any evidence, Agent Standish is still in a lot of trouble." 

Vin bristled at the doubt in his voice.  "With all due respect, sir... if Ezra goes, then I'm goin' too."  He looked Travis in the eye.  "I ain't gonna work someplace that would take the word of a bunch'a lowlifes over one of its own."

Travis lifted an eyebrow in surprise.  "You're that certain?"

"Yep," Vin said confidently.

"I'll take that under advisement," Travis said, with a sardonic smile.  He should have expected something like this from his most unusual team.  Their loyalty to one another was well-known throughout the agency, though he never thought it applied quite as much to Standish.  He was the most recent addition to the team and it was no secret that the temperamental southerner wasn't the easiest person to work with.  Chris had once referred to him as a "goddamned porcupine in an Armani suit".  Travis had also heard other, much less flattering opinions of the man and had begun to question Larabee's sanity in keeping him on the team.   

Tanner, though, seemed to think otherwise.  It surprised him since, of the entire team, the sharpshooter was the one who seemed to have the least in common with the smooth undercover man.  While Standish was in his element amidst money and luxury, Tanner seemed more at home on the streets or in the wilderness.  Champagne and caviar versus beer and pizza.  Still, the man was know for his insight into people and he obviously saw something in Standish that the rest of them didn't.  Travis sighed and rubbed his hand over his face.  This team certainly knew how to keep his life interesting.

"I'm gonna get back to Ez," Vin said.  "I want to be there when he wakes up."  He grinned at the Assistant Director, a wicked gleam in his eye.  "Gotta give him grief about goin' out in public lookin' such a mess."

Travis chuckled and waved in dismissal.  Yes, they were definitely an interesting team.  Shaking his head in exasperation, he turned and walked slowly down the hall. 

* * * * * * * * * * 

The fog began to dissipate and Ezra gradually became aware of the familiar, but unwelcome, sounds of a hospital.  Prying his eyes open, he gazed blearily around the room.  Daylight streamed in around the curtains on the single, small window, dimly illuminating the room.   In a chair next to the bed, JD slouched uncomfortably, sound asleep with his mouth half-open.  Ezra frowned, wondering what he had done this time to end up in the hospital.  Vague flashes of memory paraded through his mind until he finally was able to put the pieces together.  A tide of self-loathing washed over him as he remembered how he had betrayed his teammates, failing them just as he had failed Monique all those years ago. 

Ezra tried to sit up, but gasped at the pain that shot through his ribs, choking on the breathing tube in his throat.  The gray fog returned, threatening to blanket him in darkness once again, but he fought against it stubbornly.  He had no desire to return to the nightmares that came with unconsciousness.  Forcing himself to relax, Ezra closed his eyes and eventually got his breathing under control.  

His movements wakened JD, who jumped up from his seat and leaned over Ezra.  "Ez?  Are you awake?"

Slowly, Ezra opened his eyes and looked at the worried young agent.  Since he couldn't talk, he waved his hand weakly in greeting.

JD grinned widely in relief.  "Damn, Ez.  You had us real worried.  You've been out for two whole days."

Ezra gave him a look as if to say, "Yeah, right."

JD sighed.  "Seriously, Ez.  We were all real concerned about you.  Heck, you nearly gave poor Vin a heart attack, showin' up at his place like you did."

Ezra looked away in embarrassment.  He had already caused these men enough grief without this latest escapade.

"Hey!  It ain't your fault!" JD said, recognizing the guilt in his friend's face.  

Ezra shrugged slightly in response, but JD could tell he didn't believe it.  He started to say something to convince him further, but was interrupted by the entrance of Dr. Tyler and a nurse, who shooed him out the door. 

"I see our patient is awake," Dr. Tyler said cheerfully.

Ezra glared at him.  He was feeling anything but cheery at the moment.

The doctor saw his reaction and smiled.  "I know you're probably not feeling too well right now."

Ezra rolled his eyes.

"Let me explain to you what's happening," Dr. Tyler said with a chuckle.  He had been warned about this patient's cantankerous nature.  "You've got several cracked ribs, a lot of contusions, and a rather nasty case of pneumonia, which is why we have you on the respirator."

Ezra pointed to the breathing tube and looked at the doctor hopefully.

Dr. Tyler shook his head.  "Not yet.  We need to leave that in a little while longer, until your lungs sound better."

Ezra leaned back, frustrated with the situation.

"You're still a very sick man, Mr. Standish," the doctor said.  "If your friends hadn't brought you in when they did, you might not be here to argue with me.  You still have a high fever and a lot of congestion in your lungs, so we can't rush things."  

Reluctantly, Ezra nodded.  He had had pneumonia before and knew there was only so much that could be done to speed up the recovery process.  

"Why don't you try to get some rest?" Dr. Tyler suggested.  "I'll see you again tomorrow."

The nurse injected something into his IV bag and smiled at him before following the doctor from the room.    


JD came back inside quietly a few minutes later.  "How you doin'?"

Ezra shrugged, then winced at the pain it caused in his ribs. 

"The doc says you're going to be fine," he said encouragingly.  "The guys'll sure be glad to hear that.  I called Chris to let him know you were awake."

Ezra made a face.

JD laughed.  "Yeah, I know.  But he really wants to talk to you."

Lifting an eyebrow, Ezra pointed to the respirator tube.

"Oh," JD said with chagrin.  "I forgot about that."  He grinned mischievously.  "Well, I guess that's Chris's problem."

Ezra smiled as best he could around the obstruction in his mouth, then leaned back wearily.  He had been awake for less than a half-hour, but he was already tired again.

JD watched his friend's eyelids begin to droop with growing weariness.  "Hey, why don't you get some sleep, okay?  You're gonna need it to handle Chris and the others."

Ezra nodded sleepily and lifted his hand in a wave before leaning back and drifting off to sleep.

Settling back in his chair, JD watched as Ezra's face relaxed into sleep.  The others would be coming by as soon as they were done with work, but he didn't want to leave his friend alone.  It seemed to him that Ezra had been alone too much lately, and he wasn't going to desert him when he needed a friend the most.  

Vin had confided in him about what he had told AD Travis, and JD had decided that he would join him in leaving if Ezra got shafted by IA.  Vin had insisted that he was too young, that he shouldn't ruin his own career, but JD was determined to stand up for what was right.  It would be hypocritical of him to claim to be a good guy and then just stand around while an injustice was being perpetrated right in front of his face.  Neither he nor Vin had informed the others of their intentions yet, preferring to wait to see what would happen before braving that particular minefield.  JD was sure Buck would blow a gasket when he found out, but he didn't care.  He wasn't a kid, no matter how much he might look like one, and he had to stand by his principles.  Still, he prayed that it wouldn't come to that, since that was one confrontation he would rather avoid.

* * * * * * * * * * 

"How is he?" Chris asked quietly as he entered Ezra's room.

JD looked over at Ezra, who was still sound asleep.  "He seems okay.  He was with it enough to give the doctor some dirty looks."

"Must be hell for him having that tube in," Chris said with a chuckle.

"Yeah," JD agreed.  "He was hurtin' some, but they gave him painkillers or something.  He's been out ever since."

"He still looks like hell," Chris observed.  The swelling in his face had gone down, but it was still a multicolored patchwork of bruises and cuts.  Whoever had worked him over had been very thorough.

"Any luck getting to Hanford's men?"

"Not yet," Chris said with a frustrated sigh.  "But we will.  I guarantee you that."

JD nodded in agreement.  Nobody stood in Chris Larabee's way for long.

"The rest of the boys are going to the Saloon to grab a bite to eat before they come by," he continued.  "Why don't you head on over there now?"

"What about you?"  JD asked.

"Bring me a burger when you come back," Chris said.

"Okay." JD grabbed his coat and headed for the door.  "See ya later."

Chris dropped into the plastic chair by the bed and studied his undercover agent.  Farrell and Kendrick were chomping at the bit, anxious to interrogate Ezra, and it was all he could do to keep them away until the man woke up.  Chris wanted answers as much as anyone else, but he wasn't willing to risk his agent's life to get them.  Farrell and Kendrick didn't have such qualms.

Then there was the matter of Vin.  AD Travis had told him of the sharpshooter's threat to quit if Ezra lost his job, and while he admired the man's loyalty, he didn't want to lose him.  It would be bad enough losing Ezra, if it came to that, but to lose Vin as well would be devastating.  The team simply would not function with two missing men.  Chris sighed and leaned back in his chair.  He was beginning to feel like the captain of a sinking ship.    

* * * * * * * * * * 

Chris hung up the phone and rubbed his temples.  

"What now?" asked Vin, who was sitting across from his desk.

"Kendrick and Farrell are going to see Ezra tomorrow," he said with a sigh.  "They found out that he got the breathing tube out this morning and they didn't waste any time in harassing Travis."

"Shit," Vin swore.  "Nothin' you can do to stop 'em?"

"Nope," Chris said with a shake of his head.  "Travis stalled them as long as he could, but they threatened to go over his head, so he had to give in."

"You know what time they're gonna show up?"

Chris shrugged.  "I don't know."

"I want to be there," Vin said.  "Ez shouldn't have to deal with those assholes alone."

"Can't be helped," Chris said, shaking his head.  "Travis ordered us to stay out of their way."

"Goddammit!" Vin jumped up from his seat and began to pace.  "He ain't in no condition to deal with that shit."

"I know," Chris said quietly.  "But there's nothing we can do about it."

"I'm gettin' damn sick of hearin' that, cowboy," Vin said angrily.

"And I'm damn sick of saying it," Chris replied sympathetically.  "Look, we can't do anything about Kendrick and Farrell tomorrow, but we there might be something else we can do."

Vin cocked his head slightly.  "I'm listenin'."

"Farrell and Kendrick will be out of the office while they're talking to Ezra, right?" Chris said.

"Yeah, so?"

"So, that means they won't be around to stop us from questioning Hanford's lackeys," Chris said with a sly grin. 

A smile slowly spread across Vin's face.  "That's the best idea I've heard all day."

* * * * * * * * * * 

He was running... being chased.  His pursuers were faceless, but he could hear their mocking laughter in his ears.  His breath came in heavy gasps as he struggled to escape.  But they were gaining on him.  He could hear them calling his name, getting closer with every step...

"Ezra!"

Ezra opened his eyes and blinked in confusion.  

"Ez?"

Turning his head, Ezra found Vin leaning over him, a look of concern on his face.  It had been a dream.  He breathed a sigh of relief that turned into a series of hacking coughs, sending renewed pain through his midsection with every breath.  Finally, the attack subsided, and Ezra leaned back wearily into his pillow.  By now, the others in the room had surrounded his bed, eyeing him worriedly.

"You okay?" asked JD anxiously.

Ezra nodded, then looked around in confusion.  "What..." he began hoarsely.  "What are you doing here?"

"Where else are we gonna be?" JD asked.  

"You gave us quite a fright, brother," Josiah said with a smile.

"Hell, Ez," Vin said with a grin.  "We're just makin' sure you keep your sorry butt in bed.  Don't want you scarin' anyone, lookin' like that."

Ezra swallowed nervously, unsure of how to handle this unexpected display of concern.  He certainly didn't deserve it after betraying all of their plans to Bradley.  How could they even stand to be in the same room with him?

"Can you tell us what happened?" Chris asked.

Ezra met Chris's eyes, then looked away, afraid of what the other man would see in his face.  Sensing his dilemma, Chris gestured silently for the others to leave the room.  The others quietly filed out, but Vin stayed behind, determined to lend his support.

"Well?" Chris prodded. 

With a soft sigh, Ezra turned to the blond man, defeat showing clearly in his eyes.  "Bradley..." He paused, reaching for the cup on the nightstand, which Vin promptly snatched away and filled from the pitcher that stood beside it.  Nodding his thanks, Ezra took a sip before continuing.

"Bradley came to my apartment last Thursday and..." He trailed off, looking at them curiously.  "What day is it?"

Chris shared a look with Vin before answering, "It's Thursday afternoon." 

"Oh," Ezra said dazedly, surprised that so much time had passed. 

"So what happened Thursday?" Vin said.

"Um, Bradley dropped by for a visit," Ezra said.  "He invited me to dinner but I was not feeling well enough to go out, so he offered to fix me a drink."  Ezra grimaced in disgust.  "It seems he slipped me the proverbial mickey, as I recall nothing else until awakening in that dismal room."

"What room?" asked Chris.

"Bradley and his... associates are using an old nightclub near the south side of town," Ezra explained.  "They locked me in a room and..." he looked down, rubbing his arm unconsciously.  "Bradley gave me some kind of drug in an attempt to elicit information regarding any pending operations against himself and his associates."

"We found the vials in your pocket," Chris said.  "Forensics analyzed them.  One was a sedative and the other was a variant of sodium pentothol."

Ezra smiled bitterly.  "Well, whatever it was, it apparently worked.  Bradley assured me that I provided him with quality information regarding the two previous attempts to apprehend him."  

"Shit," Chris muttered.

Vin saw the self-loathing in Ezra's expression and squeezed his shoulder in support.  "Not your fault, pard."

"And just how do you presume that?" Ezra said with a snort.  "I am supposed to be a trained agent, and yet, Bradley and his band of miscreants were able to drug me, not once, but _three_ times, without my knowledge.  It doesn't speak very highly of my abilities, does it?"  He clutched his chest as another coughing fit began.

"You couldn't have known, Ez," Vin continued, once the coughing had abated.

"I should have," Ezra said softly.  "He's my cousin.  Of all people, I should have seen what he was really like."

"Hate to break this to you Ez, but you ain't perfect," Chris said with a smile.  

Ezra glared at him, not convinced.

"How'd you get your face busted?" Vin asked, feeling that a change of subject was needed.

"Bradley's associates weren't convinced of the efficacy of the drugs this time around," Ezra replied dully.  "It appears that my cold medication interfered with their first attempt to procure information.  They decided to try another form of persuasion."

"Looks like you made them do a lot of persuading," Vin observed.

"They did seem to enjoy their work," Ezra agreed with a grimace.

"Well, you don't have to worry about them anymore," Chris said.  "We have them locked up downtown."

"Bradley?"  Ezra looked at him, a question in his eyes.

Chris looked at the floor, then slowly back to Ezra.  "I'm sorry, Ez.  He refused to surrender.  Nelson had to take him out."

With a pained look on his face, Ezra looked away, nodding silently.  Bradley had always been proud and stubborn and wouldn't give up on anything he believed in without a fight.  It was a shame that he couldn't have believed in something worthwhile.

"His pals are saying you gave up the info willingly because you were one of them," Chris said quietly.

Ezra turned to him, his eyes flashing with indignation.  "I will not even dignify that with a response. "

"Don't have to convince me, pard," Vin said supportively.

"Thank you, Mr. Tanner," Ezra said gratefully.  "To think that I could be one of those murderous reprobates is utterly preposterous.  If I was indeed a part of their nefarious scheme, why would they feel the need to drug and incarcerate me while they attended to their business?"

"It's going to take more than that to convince IA and the Feds," Chris reminded him.

"Ah yes, guilty until proven innocent," Ezra said acidly.  "The story of my life."

Chris sighed and ran a hand through his hair.  "Ez..."

"Spare me, Mr. Larabee," Ezra interrupted.  "As I told you before, this is quite familiar to me."

"We're doing what we can," Chris said lamely.

"I'm sure you are," Ezra said dispiritedly, not believing it for a minute.

"We got some more bad news, Ez," Vin said hesitantly.

Ezra turned to look at him, apprehension evident his expression.  "What now?"

"Kendrick and Farrell are coming to question you tomorrow," Chris stated bluntly.

"Wonderful," Ezra said sarcastically, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.  

"They won't let us be here with you," Vin said apologetically.

Ezra shrugged.  "It won't matter, Mr. Tanner.  They won't believe a word I say anyway."

Vin shook his head, not knowing what else to say to the depressed undercover agent.

Chris frowned.  It might have been a result of the illness or the pain medication, but he couldn't remember ever seeing Ezra's face so open.  The emotions he was feeling shone plainly for all to see, and Chris no longer doubted what he said.  The man was a good actor, but he wasn't good enough to fake out both himself and Vin – not in his weakened condition.  The problem was that IA didn't care about emotions.  They cared only for facts, and right now, the facts pointed straight to Ezra.

"You're giving up?" Chris finally said.  "That's not like you, Ezra."

"How would you know?" Ezra retorted.

"I know you're too damn stubborn to let an asshole like Farrell walk all over you," Chris said pointedly.

"Yeah, and Kendrick couldn't find his ass with both hands and a flashlight," Vin added.  "You gonna let him beat you so easy?"

Ezra cocked an eyebrow at him.  "Colorful, Mr. Tanner."

"But true," Chris said with a grin.

With a sigh, Ezra said wearily, "I suppose I ought to give them a run for their money."

"That's the spirit," Chris said. 

"This ain't over, Ez," Vin said reassuringly.  "Me and Chris are gonna see if we can't shake the truth out of those assholes they got in custody tomorrow."

"While the cats are away, the mice will play," Ezra quipped, feeling the faint stirrings of hope.  If anyone could pry the truth from those two miscreants, it would be Larabee and Tanner.  They were quite the formidable pair during interrogations.  They rarely raised their voices, but still managed to intimidate most of the suspects into revealing all they knew.  He wished he could be there to see it.

"You got that right," Vin agreed, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Then I shall attempt to keep them occupied to allow you the time you need to question the miscreants," Ezra said with a hint of a smile.

"Don't strain yourself," Chris warned.  "You're still sick."

"It will be a pleasure, Mr. Larabee," Ezra countered.  "Not a hardship."

"I'll bet," Vin said with a laugh.

"We'd better get back," Chris said.  "We still have some wrap-up to do on Arbella."

"Hang tough, Ez," Vin said encouragingly.

"I shall endeavor to do so, Mr. Tanner," Ezra said.

"Good," Chris said.

Ezra watched them leave with mixed emotions.  Why were they helping him?  Even if they believed his story, he was still responsible for leaking information.  They might be able to keep him out of the clutches of IA and the FBI, but nothing could free him from the guilt he suffered.  If Bradley and his friends had succeeded in getting their hands on the weapons they planned to buy, many people would have been endangered simply because of the color of their skin or the religion they practiced.  Ezra shuddered to think about how many lives might have been lost as a result.

Bradley was dead.  His Brotherhood had been damaged, but would probably survive.  Groups like that always seemed to live on, despite the efforts to eradicate them.  Ezra wasn't happy that Bradley was gone, but he was thankful for the end of his racist activities.  He shook his head sadly, wishing that his cousin had had the chance to experience the world, as he had.  Perhaps then, he might have grown up to be more tolerant and accepting.  Ezra sighed.  He never thought he'd see the day that he would wish his childhood upon someone else.  Maybe it hadn't been so bad after all.

* * * * * * * * * * 

"Shit, Larabee.  You're gonna get me in trouble," the man complained.

"Come on, Mac," Chris urged.  "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

FBI Special Agent Bob MacGregor looked at his old friend and sighed.  "Yeah, I heard about Standish.  Is he really worth all this trouble?"

Chris's expression hardened.  "He's one of my men," he replied coolly.

MacGregor needed no further explanation.  He knew from past experience that Larabee was loyal to a fault and would risk everything for 'one of his'.  Looking at Tanner, who stood beside his boss, he could see the same look in his eyes.  It figured that Larabee's boys would feel the same way as their leader.

"All right," MacGregor conceded.  "But you'd better make it quick."

Chris nodded and slapped him on the shoulder.  "Thanks, Bob.  I knew you could help us out."

MacGregor snorted and led them to the interrogation rooms, where he would bring Hanford's men, Sam Connor and John Phillips.  "Just don't damage them, okay?"

"No problem," Chris said.

After a short phone call, the prisoners were led into one of the rooms, and MacGregor shivered when he caught a glimpse of the predatory look on Larabee's face as he looked at them.  It made him glad that he was on this side of the wall.  

Chris entered the room and sat calmly across from the two men.  "Hello, boys.  I hear you've been telling quite a story about my agent."

The men looked at one another and then back at Chris.

"We only said what happened," John said confidently.

"Oh really?"  Chris gave them a feral smile.  "That's not what Agent Standish tells me."

Sam looked at John nervously.  Standish was still at the nightclub, wasn't he?

"In fact, I think you two might have something to do with the condition he's in right now," Chris stated calmly.

"Don't know what you're talkin' about," John said defensively.  "Standish gave us all the info we asked for, him bein' Bradley's cousin and all.  He supports our Cause."

Vin, watching from the other side of the two-way glass, frowned at that statement.  "Bullshit," he muttered under his breath.  

MacGregor looked at him, unsurprised at the hard look on his face.  He and Larabee were like two peas in a pod, right down to the ferocious glare they could bestow on deserving bad guys.  That glare was going full force now, directed at the two criminals in the room, who were currently flinching from an identical look from Larabee.

Chris tried every tactic he knew, but the men weren't budging from their statements.  Frustrated, he stomped out of the room, his fists clenching and unclenching by his sides.  "Goddamn sonsabitches!" he growled.  "I feel like belting the truth out of them."

"Maybe they _are_ telling the truth," MacGregor offered, only to step back under the force of the fierce gazes being directed at him.  "Okay, maybe not," he said lamely.

"Let me try," Vin said quietly.

Chris looked at him, then shrugged.  "Go ahead.  We've got nothing to lose."  He and MacGregor watched as Vin strolled into the room casually and slouched into the chair in front of the men.

"You boys are gonna tell the truth, now," Vin stated matter-of-factly.

"We've been telling the truth," Sam said defiantly.

Vin smiled, then leaned over and whispered to the two men.

Chris frowned when both prisoners' eyes widened and they began to stutter nervously.

"You can't!" Sam pleaded.

"Yes, I can," Vin said pleasantly.

"But...." John trailed off as he looked into the sharpshooter's face.  He swallowed anxiously, then said, "Okay, we'll tell you."

"It was Bradley's idea," Sam said.  "He said his cousin was too much of a boy scout to give us anything voluntarily, so he got some drugs to do the job."

"Yeah," John agreed.  "We saw him do it.  The guy never knew what was goin' on." 

"Were you the ones who beat him up?"

"Uh," Sam looked at John again.

John sighed.  "Yeah, that was us."

Vin smiled.  "Good.  And you're gonna tell Farrell and Kendrick all the details, aren't you."

Sam bobbed his head eagerly.  "Yes, sir."

"You ain't gonna...."  John trailed off.

"Not if you tell 'em everything," Vin said.

"We will," Sam said.

"You never saw me or my friend, got it?"

"No problem," John said, relief evident in his voice.

Vin turned and faced the mirror, grinning broadly at the two men on the other side before he left the room as nonchalantly as he had entered.

"What the hell did you say to them?" Chris demanded, once Vin had re-entered the observation room.

Vin chuckled.  "I just told 'em I'd spread the word in prison that they were child molesters unless they told me the truth."

"Shit, you do that and they'd end up being punks for half the prison population," MacGregor said, knowing that such offenders were not thought of very highly by the rest of the inmates.

"Yeah, and punching bags for the other half," Chris agreed, laughing out loud.

"Damn, you play dirty, Tanner," MacGregor said appreciatively.

"It worked," Vin said with a shrug.

"Come on," Chris said.  "Let's go tell the guys the good news."

MacGregor chuckled to himself as they left.  Things were never dull when Chris Larabee was around.

TBC

  


* * *


	9. Part 9

  
Black and White  
ATF Universe  
by Violette   


Part 9  
  


* * *

"Standish!"

The insistent voice forced its way into his consciousness, pulling from the blissful peace of sleep.  With a reluctant yawn, Ezra opened his eyes to see who was being so rude as to interrupt his rest.  His stomach clenched when he looked up into the smug visage of Agent Farrell.  Agent Kendrick stood to his left, his hands on his hips as he glared impatiently at the man in the bed.

"About time you woke up," Kendrick said tersely. "We've been waiting long enough for this."

Ezra glowered at him, but said nothing.

"Ezra Standish, I'm placing you under arrest for obstruction of justice and illegal arms trafficking."  He recited the Miranda warning, then drew a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and snapped them on Ezra's right wrist, securing the other end to the bed rail.  Farrell watched with a satisfied grin on his face.

Ezra leaned back into his pillows and raised a disdainful eyebrow, lifting his shackled wrist toward the two men.

Farrell snorted.  "Those are necessary when dealing with snakes like you."

Ezra sent him a scathing look.

"Now, we have some questions for you," Kendrick stated.  "How long have you been a member of the Brotherhood for a Pure America?" 

Ezra looked at him and smiled.

"Well?" Farrell prodded.

Ezra continued to smile, maintaining his silence.  He knew how Farrell operated; the man was too arrogant and stubborn to give in, even when he held a losing hand.

Farrell and Kendrick looked at one another and began a barrage of questioning, resorting to insults and threats when they continued to get no response.  For two hours, they continued grilling Ezra, but he refused to say a word, driving the two agents into a frustrated rage.

"Damn it, Standish!  You're gonna have to talk to us sooner or later!" Farrell snarled.

"You aren't helping yourself by being stubborn," Kendrick added.  "You're only making yourself look more guilty."

Ezra's expression never changed as he regarded the two agents calmly, a mocking smile still playing on his lips.  

"Shit!" Farrell turned away from the infuriating agent in the bed.  "I'm going to talk to Travis," he told Kendrick.  "Maybe he can loosen the bastard's tongue."  Tossing a final glare over his shoulder, he stormed out the door.

Kendrick looked at Ezra coldly, shaking his head in disgust as he followed Farrell.

Once they were out the door, Ezra slumped into his pillow, breathing a sigh of relief that turned into a fit of coughing.  It had been taken all of his strength to suppress the coughs while the two hostile agents were in the room, but it was worth it to see the aggravation his silence caused them.  He smiled contentedly at the looks he had brought to their faces by the time they finally gave up.  It wasn't going to work for long, but at least he had gained a slight reprieve.  With any luck, Chris and Vin had extracted the truth from Bradley's cohorts.

The handcuffs on his wrist clinked against the bed rail as he tried to reach for the water pitcher on the nightstand.  Glaring at them disdainfully, Ezra looked around for something to aid in their removal.  Nothing was apparent in the immediate area and he leaned back against his pillows in frustration.  His eyes started to drift shut of their own accord and Ezra decided not to fight the sleep that was attempting to claim him.  He would remove the handcuffs later.  

* * * * * * * * * * 

JD looked up, his face clouding in confusion, when he saw Chris and Vin enter the bullpen laughing.  There hadn't been much laughter around the office since the whole mess with Ezra had started.  

He waved to them as they came closer.  "Hey, guys.  What's so funny?"

Chris chuckled.  "Vin got Ezra off the hook."

"What?" JD asked, his eyes widening in astonishment.  "How?"

"He has quite a way with interrogations," Chris said, unable to suppress a laugh as he thought of the looks on the men's faces when Vin had threatened them.

"What'd they say?" Buck asked, still doubtful of Ezra's innocence.

"They verified everything Ez told us," Vin said contentedly.

"That is truly good news," Josiah said thankfully.

"They just gave up the information, just like that?" Nathan asked with a frown.

"They did need a little convincing," Chris said with a grin.  "Tell 'em what you said."  He nudged Vin in the side.

Vin smiled and repeated what he had told the prisoners.  The men burst out laughing, except for Nathan, who narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.  It was going to take a lot more than a coerced confession to convince him that Ezra wasn't a bigot.

"Guess that means I won't have to quit after all," JD said happily.

"What?!"  Buck shouted.

JD gulped, regretting his slip of the tongue, then stood and faced his friend proudly.  "I decided that if they railroaded Ez, I was gonna quit.  I ain't workin' anyplace that don't treat people fairly." 

Vin stepped up beside him.  "And I was gonna go with him," he said, daring Buck to argue.  "I told Travis the same thing."

"You guys would kill your careers for _Ezra_?" Nathan asked incredulously.

Vin turned to him and scowled, not liking the way Nathan had said Ezra's name.  "I believe in 'innocent until proven guilty'.  Just 'cause you don't like him, don't make him guilty."

JD lifted his chin defiantly and faced the former medic.  "What he said."

Nathan glared at the two younger men.  "Don't mean he ain't guilty, either."

Josiah smiled sadly at the confrontation.  Their two youngest agents were certainly steadfast in their principles, just as Nathan was with his own, but the conflict between then concerned him.  Even if Ezra were exonerated, things had been said and damage had been done.  Trouble was brewing for the team unless they found a way to defuse it.

"That's enough," Chris said calmly, stepping between the three men.  "We've got work to do."

Buck sighed as everyone returned to their respective desks.  He was as shocked as Nathan that his two young friends would give up their jobs because of Ezra.  Vin and JD had been the first to trust the reticent undercover agent and had been attempting, mostly unsuccessfully, to draw him into their 'family' ever since.  Buck had developed a measure of faith in the man, but he still harbored doubts as to his integrity.  This recent fiasco had served to bring everyone's uncertainty to the forefront, except for JD and Vin, who rallied behind the embattled agent.  Emotions were running high and Buck hoped that the team wouldn't self-destruct as a result.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Ezra was asleep when they entered his room that evening.  JD stood by his bed, bouncing on his heels anxiously, eager to share the good news with his friend.  Vin shook his head and grinned, though he was also looking forward to Ezra's reaction.  Nathan had come along grudgingly, but the rest of the team had been impatient to alert the injured man to the change in the prisoners' statements.  

"Aw hell," Vin said, gesturing angrily toward Ezra's handcuffed wrist in response to the others' curious gazes.

"Geez, what assholes," JD said with a frown.  

"Anybody got keys?" Chris asked, his jaw clenched tightly at what could only be a spiteful move on the part of the FBI agent.

Heads shaking in the negative were the only response he got.

"I'll bring some by later," Chris said with a sigh.  

Ezra moaned suddenly and began to thrash in the bed.  "Nooo... no... Monique...."  His breathing grew more ragged and he began to cough violently.

"Ezra!"  Vin called, shaking his shoulder gently.  "Wake up!"

Ezra's eyes fluttered open and he looked around groggily, confusion etched on his features.  "What...?"

"Easy, Ez," JD said soothingly, rubbing Ezra's upper arm lightly.  "It's just a bad dream."

"Mr. Dunne?" Ezra said after he had awakened fully.  He looked at the rest of the men inquisitively.  "What brings you all here?"

"We got good news, Ez," Vin said cheerily.  

Ezra lifted an eyebrow in inquiry.

"Vin got 'em to talk," JD said excitedly.

Ezra turned to Vin and smirked.  "And what sort of persuasive powers did you use?  The last I heard, they were rather adamant in their stance."

Vin leaned down and whispered in Ezra's ear.

Ezra stared at him, a smile forming on his lips.  "You didn't?"

"Yes, he did," Chris confirmed.

Ezra started to laugh, clutching his ribs against the pain the motion caused.  The laugh degenerated into another coughing fit, and it was several minutes before he could speak again.  "That was unkind, Mr. Tanner."

"It worked, didn't it?" Vin stated with a shrug.

"Sorry we didn't bring any handcuff keys, Ez," Buck said.

Ez looked at the cuffs with disgust.  "Agent Farrell has poor taste in accessories."  Glancing at JD, Ezra reached over and removed a pen from his pocket.  He carefully pulled it apart, removing the spring that controlled the retracting mechanism.  Straightening it as much as he was able with his fingers, he inserted it into the key slot in the cuffs and began twisting it around.  Within moments, the cuff popped open, freeing his wrist.  Ezra turned back to JD with a grin.  "I'll buy you a new pen, Mr. Dunne."

"Where'd you learn how to do that?" JD asked in awe.  He had never seen someone pick a lock so quickly.

"My mother," Ezra said succinctly.  "It is one of the skills Maude imparted to me when I was a child.  I picked my first lock when I was seven."

Buck started to laugh, the others joining in soon after.  Nathan merely sighed and shook his head.  What kind of mother teaches her child to pick locks?

"Why didn't you do that earlier, brother?"  Josiah inquired, still chuckling.

"I didn't have a pen," Ezra replied with a smirk.

"How'd it go with the Hardy Boys today, Ez," Vin asked.

Ezra rolled his eyes and groaned.  "They were quite annoying."

"Travis said you weren't very cooperative," Buck said with a grin.  "What did you say to them?"

"Nothing," Ezra said.

"Come on, Ez," JD prodded.  "You must have said something to tick them off."

"No," Ezra shook his head.  "I said nothing.  Absolutely nothing at all."

"You exercised your right to remain silent?" Josiah queried.

"Indeed," Ezra said with a smirk.

"No wonder they were pissed," Vin said with a laugh.

"Travis is going to want to talk to you, but he said it looks good for getting the charges dropped," Chris added.

Ezra nodded, relief shining in his eyes.  He swept his gaze over the men who surrounded him, studying their expressions.  Vin and JD seemed truly pleased by his exoneration.  The light of accusation had faded from Chris and Josiah's eyes, but Buck's face still harbored some skepticism.  Nathan's expression remained impassive, though Ezra could detect the hostility that was lurking under the calm surface.  He might have been vindicated in the eyes of the law, but it was clear that Nathan remained unconvinced.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," a feminine voice interrupted, pulling Ezra from his reverie.  All eyes in the room turned toward the nurse, who stood patiently in the doorway.  "I'm afraid visiting hours are over."

"Guess we'd better go," JD said with a sigh.  

"We'll hoist a few for ya at the Saloon tonight, Ez," Vin said with a grin, slapping JD on the back as he headed for the door.

"See ya later, Ez," Buck said, lifting his hand in a wave.

"Rest well, brother," Josiah said as he patted Ezra's knee.

Nathan followed Josiah out of the room without a word, leaving only Chris behind.

"Travis will probably be by to see you Monday," Chris said.  "Try not to give him a hard time, okay?"

Ezra smiled.  "I shall try my best."

"I'm sure you will," Chris said with a grin.  "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Good night, Mr. Larabee," Ezra said to his leader's retreating back.

His smile faded the moment the door closed.  Ezra leaned back into his pillows with a sigh.  He felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.  Yet, there was a new emptiness inside him; a hole that remained unfilled.  Yes, he had been cleared of any wrongdoing, but the hurt remained.  His teammates, these men that he trusted with his life, had, with the exception of Vin and JD, turned on him without the slightest hesitation.  All it had taken was a few photographs for them to suspect the worst of him.  To be fair, he _had_ given information to his cousin, albeit unwillingly.  But their mistrust had begun to manifest itself long before the first bust was compromised.

Ezra shut his eyes, wishing that his thoughts would leave him in peace, but they continued to hound him, keeping the tranquility of sleep at bay.  The sharp sting of betrayal took up residence in his heart yet again as he struggled to rebuild the walls that had once kept out the hurt.  It was his own fault for allowing those first tendrils of friendship and trust to sneak past the barriers that had protected him for so long.  Somehow, these men had breached those walls and he was now paying the price for his foolishness and lack of vigilance.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Chris eyed the closed door with a grimace.  Taking a breath and steeling himself for the encounter, he pushed the door open and strode confidently into the office.

"Chris," Travis greeted him.

"Sir," Chris nodded in his direction, then turned toward the other two occupants of the room.  "Farrell, Kendrick."

"Larabee," Kendrick acknowledged his fellow agent.  Farrell sat quietly and glowered at him.

"Well, gentlemen, it seems we have come to a successful conclusion to this case," Travis began, shooting a quick glance at the FBI agent who sat fuming on one side of his office.

"Successful for whom?"  Farrell retorted.  

Chris sighed.  "We caught the bad guys, Farrell.  What more is there?"

"I don't know what kind of stunt you pulled, Larabee, but I know you coerced that confession from Connor and Phillips," Farrell said disgustedly.  "You're letting Standish get away with his crimes."

"There are no crimes, Farrell," Chris said, straining to remain civil to the irritating agent.

"What about Standish's involvement with the BPA?" Kendrick asked.

"His only involvement was being related to Hanford," Chris replied curtly.  "He never knowingly gave up any information.  Hanford's men confirmed that they used drugs on Ezra to get the information they wanted."

"Agent Larabee is correct," Travis said, interrupting the retort that Farrell was about to make.  "There is no evidence that Agent Standish was anything but an innocent pawn in Hanford's scheme.  I would appreciate it if you kept any further slanderous statements to yourself unless you have the proof to back them up."

Farrell glared at him, but gave a tight nod in response. "Fine."

"Agent Kendrick?"  Travis inquired.  "Do you have anything to add?"

"No sir," Kendrick replied reluctantly.  "The charges against Agent Standish have been dropped due to lack of evidence."

"Good," Travis said, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.  "Then I trust our business here is concluded."

Kendrick nodded and stood to leave.  

Farrell stood and followed, stopping by the door.  "I'll be keeping an eye on Standish.  He won't stay out of trouble for long... and I'll be there the next time he decides to play on the other side of the fence."  With that, he turned and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

"A bit hostile toward Standish, isn't he?"  Travis said, lifting his eyebrows at the FBI agent's behavior.

"Apparently, he was involved in the mess back in Atlanta," Chris explained.  "Ezra isn't too fond of him... referred to him as a 'sanctimonious bastard'."

Travis chuckled.  "I'd say he's right."

Chris grinned.  "So would I."

"I'll speak to Standish this afternoon," Travis said.  "I'm sure he'll be glad to have this cleared up."

"I hope so," Chris said.

"Is there a problem?" 

"I don't know," Chris said.  "This has caused a lot of friction between the guys.  Nathan was having an especially hard time with it."

"The racist aspect?"

Chris nodded.  "He's not entirely convinced that Ezra isn't a bigot."

Travis leveled his gaze at his agent.  "How big of a problem is this?"

"I honestly don't know," Chris said with a sigh.  "We'll just have to wait and see."

Travis nodded thoughtfully.  "Keep me apprised of the situation.  I'd hate to see something like this ruin my best team."

"I'll do that," Chris said, giving Travis a crooked grin as he got to his feet. "I've kind of gotten used to 'em myself."

* * * * * * * * * * 

The room was quiet when Orrin Travis pushed his way quietly through the door.  The shades were closed and one small lamp cast a dim light into the room, illuminating the outline of the agent sleeping in the bed.  He eyed the man sympathetically, noting the bruises that had yet to fade and the bandages wrapped around the damaged wrists.  Travis suspected that if the slick undercover agent ever realized how innocent and vulnerable he looked in sleep, he would have found a way to maintain his sarcastic façade even in unconsciousness.

"Who's there?" the sleepy voice called warily from the bed.

Travis started at the sound, unaware that the man had awakened.  "Agent Standish," Travis greeted him, moving closer to the bed, where he snapped on a second lamp.  "How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thank you," Ezra replied politely, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand.

"That's good to hear," Travis said sincerely.  "We were very worried about you."

Ezra raised his eyebrows and smiled slightly, indicating that he didn't quite believe that.  Travis watched him thoughtfully.  Larabee might have more problems than he thought, since he suspected that this much-maligned agent was not going to forgive so easily.  The watery green eyes held a coldness that hadn't been there before and he knew it wasn't going to be easy to erase that look.  With a sigh, he pushed that thought aside and proceeded on to what had brought him here in the first place.

"I wanted to inform you personally that all charges against you have been dropped," Travis said, studying the man carefully.  To most, Ezra's reaction would have been unnoticeable, but Travis had once served as a judge and had learned to read people quite well.  He saw the minute relaxation in the shoulders and the decrease in tension around Ezra's eyes, as his words sank in.  It might not have been obvious to anyone else, but Travis could tell that he was relieved at the news.

"That is good to hear, sir," Ezra stated blandly, as if it meant little to him.

Travis smiled at his agent's admirable effort at dissemblance.  It might have fooled others, but he knew that the man was still troubled by the recent events, despite his attempts to pretend otherwise.

"When will they be letting you out of here?"  Travis asked.

"Not soon enough," Ezra grumbled.

"I figured as much," Travis laughed.  "Just make sure you take whatever time you need.  You won't help yourself or anyone else if you fall flat on your face from overdoing it."

Ezra eyed him suspiciously, then nodded slowly.  "I expect to be out of here in a few days."

"The doctor said Friday, I believe," Travis said, lifting the corners of his mouth in a knowing smile.

Ezra rolled his eyes to show what he thought of that.

"I'm sure you'll be glad to hear that Agent Farrell is back in St. Louis," Travis said.

"Very."

"He is rather unpleasant, isn't he," Travis commiserated.

"That is being kind, sir," Ezra replied with a smirk.

Travis chuckled in agreement, then said with a sigh, "I have to get going now," Travis said.  "The mayor is having another one of those boring dinner parties of his, and will be insulted if I'm late again." 

Ezra chuckled at the pained look on his superior's face.  It was well known throughout the department that Travis hated the more social aspects of his job.  He had been overheard more than once complaining about having to "suck up" and "kiss ass" at the various political functions that his position forced him to attend.   

"You take care of yourself and do as the doctor says," Travis warned.  "I'll hear about it if you don't."

"Yes, sir," Ezra said, tipping his imaginary hat at the Assistant Director, who shook his head and smiled as he left the room.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Ezra picked up some of the grayish substance that the nurses had called 'meatloaf' from his plate and studied it suspiciously.  With a grimace, he dropped the fork back onto the plate and pushed the tray away.   

"You're s'posed to eat that, you know," said a familiar voice.

Ezra glanced to the door and said with a sniff,  "It's criminal to call that substance food."

Vin chuckled as he entered the room with Chris.  "I know what you mean.  I couldn't eat that shit either last time I was in here."

"You would think they would try to prepare something that would actually make one feel _better_," Ezra complained.

"Here," Chris said, handing him a brown paper bag.  "Maybe this will help."

Ezra opened the bag and smiled as he removed the cardboard container of cashew chicken.  "Thank you, Mr. Larabee."

Chris shrugged.  "Wouldn't want you malingering due to bad food."

Ezra rolled his eyes as he dug into the food with the chopsticks he found in the bag.  "Much better," he commented gratefully.

The three men chatted companionably while Ezra finished his meal.  Finally, he settled back into his pillows with a contented sigh.  

"Guess he liked it," Vin said with a smirk.

"Mr. Tanner, even that sugar-loaded trash you like to eat would have been preferable to the dreck being served by this establishment," Ezra said archly.

"He's got you there, Vin," Chris said.  "Hospital food ain't exactly gourmet cuisine."

"Quite true," Ezra agreed.  "I do thank you gentlemen for rescuing my palate this evening."

"Our pleasure," Vin said, shooting a glance at Chris.

Ezra caught the look and eyed the two men closely, noting the sudden change in their demeanors.  "Is there something you wanted?" 

"Ez, we need to talk," Chris said with a sigh.

"About what?" Ezra asked guardedly.  He had a feeling he wasn't going to like what they had to say.

"We need to know about your relationship with your cousin," Chris said reluctantly.

Ezra stared at him dispassionately, hardening himself against the emotions that began to churn inside of him.  "For what reason?  Bradley is dead.  I see no need to talk about this further."

"We just want to understand," Vin offered lamely.

Ezra turned his head away and sighed.  "This is about that damn picture, isn't it?"

Vin and Chris shared a guilty look.

"I could care less about that picture, Ez, but..." Vin trailed off, not knowing what else he could say.

"But there are still some who believe I am prejudiced against people of color," Ezra said flatly, turning back to face his blond superior.

"Hell, Ez.  The photo shows you hanging out with the KKK," Chris said.  "It would help if you could explain it to us."

Ezra stared blankly at him for a moment, then said, "Fine."

Vin watched his friend's face and groaned inwardly.  The fragile strands of friendship between Ezra and the rest of them had just taken another blow and he wasn't sure how much more they could take before they were completely severed.

Turning away from them again, Ezra began to speak.  "I stayed with Bradley and his father for the summer when I was eight."  He turned back to face them.  "Dwight Hanford was Maude's distant cousin – third cousin twice removed, or some such thing."

He looked back toward the window and continued.  "He was an unpleasant man.  Bradley and I spent the summer working on the farm." Ezra paused and shook his head.  "I wasn't very good at that kind of work, which made Dwight very unhappy.  He wasn't very tolerant.  He had a tendency to let his fists do the talking."

"Guess that's why you don't like menial labor," Vin commented.

Ezra gave him a mirthless smile.  "That's one reason."  He sighed and continued the story.  "Every weekend, he would drag Bradley and me to Klan meetings.  I never thought they were anything more than a men's club."  He shrugged and looked at Chris.  "An uncle with whom I stayed the previous summer had been a member of the Elks club, and the meetings were very much the same.  They would get together, drink beer, and watch sports on television.  Bradley and I never paid much attention to what the adults were discussing."

"I thought you always knew what was going on around you,"  Chris said doubtfully.

Ezra smiled again.  "I was too busy teaching the other children to play poker."

Vin snorted.  "Beat the pants off 'em too, I bet."

"Of course, Mr. Tanner," Ezra said with a shrug.  Toying with his blanket, he dropped his gaze and continued.  "I never realized what they were until that rally where the photo was taken.  That night, they decided they were going to go... 'nigger baiting'."  Ezra paused, the disgust he felt at that statement showed clearly on his face.

"After drinking a lot of beer, barbecuing, and burning a cross, they dressed themselves and all of the children in those tacky white robes and made us ride along in the backs of pickup trucks.  A black minister and his family had just moved into town, and, naturally, these God-fearing members of the Klan took offense."  

"Shit," Vin muttered.  He knew where this was going.

Ezra sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes.  "I'll never forget the disgusted, sorrowful look on the minister's face and the fright in his children's faces as they watched out the window while those bigots set a burning cross in their yard."  The memory of the burning cross, its flickering flames of hate reflected in the eyes of the besieged black family, was all too vivid.  If he closed his eyes, he could even remember the acrid scent of gasoline and smoke as it overpowered the delicate scent of the roses that lined the small front yard.  Ezra shook his head to clear the remembered horror away.  "After that night, I told Dwight I wasn't going to go to any more meetings."

"Did you?" asked Chris.

"Yes," Ezra replied quietly.

"Why?"  Vin asked.

"He dragged me into the barn later that night and beat me with his belt until I was unconscious," Ezra stated casually, as if he were talking about what he had for dinner last night.  

"Jesus," Vin said.

"Oh, that was his favorite topic," Ezra added, eager to change the subject.  "He would read from the bible every night, proclaiming that Jesus was the white man's salvation and that the Jews and blacks were the devil's spawn."  He chuckled.  "One night I said to him, _'Wasn't Jesus a Jew?'_"

"What did he say?" Vin asked.

"He hit me in the face with his bible and said that was blasphemy.  Knocked out two of my teeth."

"Damn, Ez," Chris said.  "You never did know when to keep your mouth shut."

Ezra shrugged and closed his eyes.  "So, is that enough information to appease you?"

Chris let out a long-suffering sigh.  "I don't like having to pry into anyone's personal life, but I'm not going to sit by and let any misunderstandings tear this team apart."

Ezra shot him a glare but said nothing.  Once again, his feelings were being trampled in favor of someone else.  No apologies for their behavior and mistrust were offered – not that he had really expected any.  But that didn't make it hurt any less.  

Chris watched the emotions play across Ezra's face: anger, hurt, disgust, and finally, resignation.  It wasn't something he was accustomed to seeing, since the undercover agent normally kept his feelings well hidden, protecting himself from those who might exploit those emotions as a weakness.  But tonight, he was either too tired to hide them... or he simply didn't care enough to make the effort.  Despite his candor in answering the questions he and Vin had posed, Chris knew that this was not the end of their problems.  They had lost much of the hard-won trust that they had previously shared with the guarded agent, and it was going to take a lot more than a few platitudes to regain that lost ground.  

The nurse chose that moment to bustle into the room, bearing a loaded syringe.  "Time for your medication, Mr. Standish."

Vin looked at the needle and grimaced.  "Uh, looks like we better get going, Ez."

Ezra glared at the nurse, but she was not easily intimidated.

Chris hid a smile and said, "I'll see you tomorrow, Ez."

Ezra shrugged and gave them a disinterested wave as they left. 

Outside the room, Vin turned to Chris and said sarcastically, "That went well."

Chris rubbed his face tiredly.  "I don't know what else we could have done.  Nathan isn't going to cut Ezra any breaks unless he hears the truth.  And he's not the only one."

"It ain't fair to Ez," Vin reminded him.

"I know," Chris conceded, then shook his head in exasperation.  "This would be so much easier if you all weren't such a bunch of stubborn bastards."

Vin grinned impishly.  "But that's why you love us."

Chris rolled his eyes.  "Don't push it, Tanner."

Vin laughed as he followed his friend down the hall. 

TBC

  


* * *


	10. Part 10

  
Black and White  
ATF Universe  
by Violette   


Part 10  
  


* * *

The sky outside his window was lightening with the approaching dawn.  Ezra regarded it wearily, turning his head away with a sigh.  His night had been restless, with sleep coming in fitful bursts between bouts of emotional turmoil.  His past had been dragged into his present and, despite his best efforts, it was wreaking havoc with his life.  

When Chris had brought him into Team Seven, he had said that he didn't care about the pasts of any of his men and that what they did while working for him was the only thing that mattered.  Now, though, those words had proved to be untrue, at least when it came to Ezra Standish.  He never received quite the same benefit of the doubt as everyone else; there was always some exception to the rule when it came to him and he was tired of the double standard.  

Ezra had never inquired into the personal lives of his associates, feeling that everyone was entitled to their privacy, but they apparently disagreed, believing that his own past and private life should be subject to their scrutiny.  It hurt him more than he cared to admit.  He had come to respect these men and he thought they had at least held some small measure of respect for him.  Their recent actions, however, had disproved that and Ezra found that he was as alone as he had been at the FBI.  It had simply taken him longer to realize it.

His musings were interrupted by the arrival of the doctor, whose eyebrow lifted in surprise at finding him awake.

"Well, good morning, Mr. Standish," Dr. Tyler said with a smile.  "I didn't expect to find you awake.  I was told that you aren't much of a morning person."

"I'm not, but this place is not very conducive to sleep," Ezra replied grumpily.

"I imagine not," the doctor said with a chuckle.

"I would like to go home," Ezra stated.  The emotions of the past few weeks had left him feeling unsettled and out of sorts.  He needed to get away, out from under the scrutiny of his associates so that he could regain control of his life.

"Now, we discussed this, Mr. Standish," the doctor chided.  "Your lungs are still congested and you simply aren't well enough to leave yet.  Perhaps in a few days...."

"No," Ezra stated, more forcefully.  "I wish to leave now."

"Mr. Standish," Dr. Tyler began with an exasperated sigh.

Ezra held up a hand.  "Please, Doctor.  I am perfectly within my rights to leave.  I believe I will recover more quickly in the comforts of my own peaceful abode."

Dr. Tyler recognized the determined set of his patient's jaw and shook his head reluctantly.  "I don't agree, but I can't stop you from leaving."

"I assure you that I intend only to get some rest."

"Let me check you over once more and then I'll get you some prescriptions," the doctor proposed.  "You're still very sick and you need to continue this medication or else you'll end up back here in even worse condition."

"I understand, Doctor," Ezra said, hiding his pleasure at the doctor's capitulation.  "I would also ask that you refrain from reporting my departure to Mr. Larabee.  I won't get much peace and quiet once he learns I have left this facility."  

"Your friends are only concerned for your welfare," Dr. Tyler reminded him.

"Yes, but they can be quite overwhelming in their efforts," Ezra retorted.  

A hint of a smile graced the doctor's face.  "Yes, I've noticed their tendency to... hover."

Ezra chuckled.  "Then you can understand my desire to vacate these premises and get some quality time to myself."

Dr. Tyler sighed, but nodded slowly.  "Yes, I suppose I can."  He gave Ezra a hard look.  "I expect to see you back here in a week for a checkup."

"Of course," Ezra agreed pleasantly.

Dr. Tyler chuckled as he left, realizing that he had just been smoothly conned into doing as his patient wished.  On the hospital grapevine, the members of this particular ATF team were well-known for being reluctant and troublesome patients, and if Standish was anything like the rest of them, he had to agree.  

* * * * * * * * * * 

With a smile, Ezra shut the door behind him and made his way to the sofa, glad to be home and free of the unwanted attention of the hospital staff.  He lay back against the cushions as a coughing fit struck, annoyed that the short walk up the stairs had been so exhausting.  It finally subsided, leaving him breathless and sore.  He would have liked nothing better than to take a nap right then and there, but he knew that his freedom would be short-lived, once his teammates learned of his escape from the hospital.  Gripping his aching midsection tightly, Ezra stood and headed to his room to pack.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Vin sat patiently in his jeep, his eyes firmly glued to the arched brick entryway of the building where Ezra lived.  He had stopped by the hospital on his way to work, planning to bring the ill southerner a deck of cards to help pass the time, only to find that Ezra had already left.  It didn't surprise him that the solitary undercover agent would attempt to leave before his doctors thought it was advisable, since he hated all of the attention that came with being in the hospital, but none of them had expected him to bolt so soon.  

Vin couldn't really blame him, though, since he wasn't fond of staying in the hospital either.  Normally, he would have left it alone, leaving the other man to enjoy his solitude, but he had an uneasy feeling that something else was motivating his friend.  It was for this reason that he was sitting in his car, waiting for Ezra to make an appearance.  He wasn't disappointed.

After only a fifteen-minute wait, Ezra walked through the doorway, carrying a small suitcase.  Minutes later, a taxi pulled into the curb to pick up its fare.  Frowning, Vin followed carefully behind, curious as to where he was going.  His question was answered when they took the turnoff to the airport.  He followed, turning into the airport parking area when they arrived, then rushing into the terminal, hoping to catch sight of Ezra.  He had almost given up hope when he spotted him at one of the ticket counters.  Pushing his way through the throngs of people, he made his way to the counter just after Ezra had left with his ticket.

"Excuse me," Vin said breathlessly as he pushed in front of the customer who was making his way to the ticket agent.  "I need to know where that man that just bought a ticket is going."  He pointed toward where Ezra had disappeared with one hand, while showing his badge with another.

"Is there a security problem?"  the woman asked, alarmed.

"No, no," Vin said reassuringly.  "But his testimony at a trial was moved up to tomorrow afternoon and I need to make sure I get him there," he lied, regarding the pretty ticket agent with an innocent expression.

"Oh, of course, sir," she said with a smile as she typed something up on her computer.  "He bought a ticket to Seattle.  First class."

"Great!  What gate is the flight leaving from?"

"Gate 24," she replied.  "But the plane is already boarding."

"Damn," Vin muttered.  "Can you get me a ticket?"

"Let me check... yes, we have plenty of seats left in coach,"  she answered.

"That'll do," Vin said with a sigh, handing over his credit card.  

* * * * * * * * * * 

Stretched out in his seat, Vin reluctantly reached for the air phone.  He had boarded the plane without Ezra noticing, but Chris was surely going to kill him when he found out what was going on.

"Larabee," Chris answered his phone tersely.

"Chris?  It's me," Vin said tentatively.

"Vin?  Where the hell are you?" Chris growled.  "I've been trying to reach you."

"Yeah, well, I had to shut off my cell phone," Vin replied.

"What for?"

Vin sighed.  "'Cause I'm on an airplane."  He held the phone away from his ear, wincing at the tirade that erupted at his pronouncement.

"Chris," he interrupted, once the volume of yelling had decreased.  "You gonna listen or what?" he said, frustrated when Chris continued to make demands.

"I'm listening," Chris said finally.

"Okay," Vin said with a sigh.  "I'm following Ezra."

"What the hell is Ezra doing on an airplane?" Chris barked.

"I don't know, that's why I'm followin' him," Vin said, exasperation creeping into his voice.  "I dropped by the hospital this mornin' to see him and he was already gone.  The doc said he'd left twenty minutes before I got there, so I went by his place and followed him to the airport."

"Where's the plane headed?" 

"Seattle," Vin answered.  "I figured I'd follow him, see what he's up to."

"All right," Chris said with a sigh.  "Call me when you know anything."

"Will do, cowboy."  Vin hung up the phone, chuckling at the image of his boss shaking his head over the actions of his wayward agents.

* * * * * * * * * * 

The house was small, but tidy, showing the care its owners took with its fresh paint and well-tended lawn.  A colorful flower garden decorated the front yard, filling the air with its sweet scent.  Ezra sat in his rental car, staring at the house with trepidation, as he had been doing for the past hour.  He was almost certain it was the right place, having looked up the telephone number and address on his computer system before he left.  Finally, he gathered his courage and left the car, ambling slowly toward the front door.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Vin yawned and grabbed another donut out of the box he had bought at the airport.  Ezra had been sitting in front of the small, single-family home in this suburb of Seattle for over an hour, and Vin was wondering if he should just go confront him and find out what he was doing there.  Just as he was about to get out of his own rental car, Ezra exited his vehicle and walked, almost reluctantly, toward the front door of the house.  Vin watched intently as Ezra knocked tentatively at the door.  His eyebrows lifted in surprise when the door was opened by a middle-aged Asian woman.  After speaking for a few moments, Ezra followed the woman inside.

"What the hell?"  Vin murmured as he reached for another donut.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Ezra lifted his hand and knocked softly at the door, feeling uncommonly nervous.  He almost hoped that no one was home, but found those hopes dashed when the door opened.  He opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly found that he had no words.  The woman looked at him curiously for a moment, then the light of recognition dawned in her eyes and she smiled at him.

"Well, it's been a long time, Mr. Standish," she said in a soft voice.  "Won't you come in?"

Ezra followed her inside, surprised that she remembered him.  He had only met her twice before, when she visited her daughter at school.  "Thank you, Mrs. Davis."

"Would you like some tea?" she asked him.

"That would be nice," he said as he took a seat on the small sofa, looking around the warm and inviting living room.  It had a comfortable, homey feeling that his own apartment lacked.  His gaze fell upon the pictures that graced the mantel above the small stone fireplace.  He stared at the one in the center, wincing at the sight of Monique's smiling face as she stood between her petite mother and her tall, dark-skinned father.

Mrs. Davis returned a few minutes later with a tray containing two cups of tea and a plate of cookies.  Ezra took his cup, sipping gratefully at the tea as he tried to think of something to say.

"So what brings you here after all these years?" Mrs. Davis asked curiously.  

Ezra set the cup down and brushed at imaginary lint on his pant leg.  "Something happened recently...." he trailed off awkwardly.

"Is that 'something' the reason for those bruises on your face?" she asked kindly.

Ezra gave her a half-hearted smile.  "Yes, I'm afraid so.  I'm an agent with the ATF and I learned something about... about Monique's death during a recent case."  He looked away sadly.  "I didn't even know she was...."

"I'm sorry we didn't contact you," Mrs. Davis apologized.  "We were terribly upset after what happened.  I never even thought of it until a few years later when I went through her things and found some pictures of you.  But you had graduated by then and I wasn't able to get your address or phone number."

"She was a very special person," Ezra said softly after a few minutes.  "She didn't deserve what happened to her.  I'm so sorry."  Tears glistened in his eyes as he turned back to Monique's mother.  "It was my fault," he said in a pained voice.

"Now, now," the older woman said, patting his hand gently.  "You couldn't have known."

"That's just it, Mrs. Davis," Ezra said plaintively.  "I should have known.  My cousin is the one who... who killed her."

"What?"  Mrs. Davis looked at him, clearly shocked by his declaration.

"I never knew," he said pleadingly.  "I didn't know until he told me recently." Ezra shook his head in disgust.  "Bradley was a white supremacist and he apparently didn't approve of our relationship.  He harassed and threatened her until she broke it off with me.  I... I wish she would have told me."

Mrs. Davis took his hand in her own.  "She never told me, either.  I knew that something must have happened, since she was so happy when she was seeing you and so sad afterward.  I know she loved you very much.  I could hear the happiness in her voice when she talked about you."

Ezra met her warm brown eyes with his own anguished green gaze.  "And I got her killed.  Bradley wasn't content with breaking us up, he...."  Ezra shook his head.  "If I had only known, I could have stopped him."  

"You can't blame yourself for the hatred of others,"  Mrs. Davis said softly.  "You are a good person, or else my Monique would never have given you the time of day."  She chuckled softly.  "That girl never had much tolerance for fools."

"I loved her," Ezra said simply.  

"I know," Mrs. Davis said with a smile.

Ezra brushed a tear off of his cheek.  "I'm sorry if I've brought up any bad memories, but I wanted to let you know personally that the man responsible for taking Monique away from you has been punished.  He was killed during a police raid on an arms deal."  Ezra looked at her earnestly.  "I know it won't bring her back, but I hope it can give you some peace."

"I made my peace long ago," Mrs. Davis said.  "But I'm glad you came here.  I hope you can find that same peace yourself."

"I'm trying," Ezra said with a small smile.

"Wait here."  The woman stood and headed down the hallway, returning a few minutes later with a box covered in a floral print.  "I'd like you to have this." She handed the box to Ezra.  "I think Monique would have wanted that."

Ezra lifted the lid off of the box carefully, then froze, staring at the pictures and letters in the box.  It was all of the notes and letters he had written to her, along with some pictures of the two of them.  He lifted one picture of  them sitting in a canoe and ran a shaking finger over Monique's face.  He remembered this picture, taken the weekend they had spent at a lake with Monique's roommate and her boyfriend.  It had been one of the best weekends he had ever spent, full of fun and laughter.  Ezra smiled, then lifted his eyes to Mrs. Davis, who favored him with a warm smile.

"Thank you," Ezra said sincerely.

"No, thank _you_, Mr. Standish," Mrs. Davis said with a smile.

* * * * * * * * * * 

The door opened again just as Vin drained the last of his coffee.  He set the empty cup down and watched as Ezra stepped out onto the small porch carrying what looked like a shoebox.  The woman followed him, grasping his hand and smiling before Ezra turned away and headed down the paved walk toward his car.  Vin started his car as Ezra pulled away from the curb, the woman still watching from the porch.

"Okay, where to now, Ez?" Vin said to himself.

They drove through the quiet suburb, ending up at a small cemetery ten minutes later.  Vin parked behind a hedge and watched his friend wander among the headstones, stopping when he apparently found the one he wanted.  He watched for a time, but then his curiosity got the best of him.  Quietly, Vin got out of his car and followed.  He wasn't sure what was going on, but judging by the southerner's slumped posture, it wasn't something pleasant, and Vin decided it was time to let his friend know that he wasn't alone.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Tears blurred his vision as Ezra stared at the engraved tombstone.  Monique's name was inscribed there in a delicate script, with birds and flowers intertwined with the letters.  Ezra thought it was appropriate, since her voice was as beautiful as the singing of birds.  A noise startled him and he turned to find Vin Tanner standing there, watching him somberly.  Ezra turned away, brushing away the tears that had once again begun to trickle down his face.

"What are you doing here, Mr. Tanner?" Ezra asked hoarsely, unsure whether to be angry, embarrassed, or grateful for the sharpshooter's company.

"I went to see you at the hospital this morning," Vin answered, moving to stand beside his obviously distraught friend.  "But you had just left, so I went by your place to make sure you were okay...."

"And you followed me," finished Ezra.  He turned again to face Vin.  "Why?"

Vin shrugged.  "I was worried about you."  He looked at the gravestone that had drawn his companion's attention, noting the date of the woman's death.  "She someone important to you?"

"Yes," Ezra whispered after a short pause.

"You want to talk about it?" Vin offered.

Ezra looked at him, noting the sincerity of his offer.  "Not particularly, but I expect Mr. Larabee will require some sort of explanation."

"Ez," Vin said with an exasperated sigh.  "Anything you want to say stays between us unless you decide otherwise."

"What about Mr. Larabee?"  Ezra raised an inquiring eyebrow.  "Surely he knows of this excursion by now?"

"Yeah, but I'll tell him it ain't none of his damn business if that's what you want."

Ezra looked at him doubtfully, arguing with himself over whether or not to trust him.  Of all of his teammates, Vin had proven the most trustworthy and Ezra decided to take a chance.  The worst that could happen was that more of his personal life would be exposed for all to see.  Given all that had already occurred, there wasn't much more they could do to hurt him.

"Very well," Ezra answered.  "But not here."

"I saw a nice restaurant near the airport," Vin suggested.

Ezra nodded, then turned back to the grave.  Sensing that his friend needed some time alone, Vin squeezed his shoulder and headed back to his car to wait.

* * * * * * * * * * 

"She was beautiful," Vin said, handing the picture of Monique back to Ezra.

"Yes, she was,"  Ezra sighed.  "And she could sing like an angel."

Vin smiled, hearing the obvious adoration in Ezra's voice.

Ezra studied him over the rim of his coffee cup.  "You don't seem surprised that I dated a woman of color."

"I'm not," Vin replied.  "I told you before that I never believed any of that stuff about you."

Ezra lowered his gaze, chastised.  "I'm sorry, Mr. Tanner.  It's just...."  He shook his head, at a loss for words, something that seemed to afflict him frequently of late.

"I ain't happy with what happened, either," Vin said.  "It weren't fair for them to treat you like that."

"I'm glad someone agrees," Ezra said with a rueful grin.

"JD was on your side, too," Vin added.  "He even told off Travis."

Ezra's eyes widened.  "He did?"

"Yep," Vin said with a smile.  "He told him he was gonna quit if they shafted you over this whole thing."

Ezra's jaw dropped.  "What?!"

"I was gonna to leave, too," Vin added with a smile.  "I told Travis that the night we brought you to the hospital."

His mouth opened and closed a few times, but Ezra couldn't find the words to express himself.  Finally, he said, "You shouldn't have done that."

"Would'a done it for any of you," Vin said with a shrug.

"But it's not worth it," Ezra said.  _I'm not worth it, _was what echoed through his head.

"Ain't your place to say," Vin said determinedly.

Ezra shook his head, knowing how futile it was to argue with the stubborn Texan.

"How's about we find us a hotel?" Vin suggested, stuffing the last of his apple pie into his mouth.  "You're lookin' a little tired."

"I am rather weary," Ezra conceded.  

"We can fly back tomorrow,"  Vin suggested.  "If you're ready to go, that is."

"I did what I came here to do," Ezra said softly, running his hand over the box of mementos.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Ezra leaned his head against the seat of the jeep, sending occasional glances from under his half-closed eyelids toward his silent companion.  The quiet man continued to surprise him, constantly doing the unexpected.  He hadn't thought that anyone would concern themselves about his problems, much less give up their own jobs in his defense.  

After checking into a hotel the previous night, Ezra had shared more of the pictures with Vin, telling him about some of the good times he and Monique had had.  Vin, in turn, had shared some stories about his own life, and Ezra had realized then that the man was truly a friend.  They were both very private people and he knew from personal experience what it had cost Vin to talk about his past.  It was almost frightening to know that the man trusted him that much.  It wasn't a feeling he was used to having.

Ezra sighed inwardly, shaking those troublesome thoughts away and wondering how he had allowed Vin to convince him to stop by the office before returning home.  He had wanted to go directly to his apartment, but Vin had convinced him that Chris would be less likely to disturb him at home if he made an appearance at work.  A soft chuckle escaped him.

"What's so funny?" Vin asked.

"You, Mr. Tanner," Ezra replied.  "It seems that some of my god-given talents are rubbing off on you."

"Chris won't be too happy to hear that." Vin grinned at him widely, his eyes twinkling with mischief.  "Now there'll be two of us to piss him off."

Ezra laughed, then started to cough.  Digging into his coat pocket, he removed the bottle of cough medicine the doctor had given him and took a healthy swig.

"You okay?"  Vin eyed him with concern as they turned into the parking garage of the Federal building.

"Fine," Ezra croaked, once the coughing had ceased.

"Good," Vin said.  "Chris would kill me if'n you got sicker."

Ezra rolled his eyes, then gave Vin a serious look.  "Vin, I... thank you."

"You're welcome," Vin said, equally seriously.

* * * * * * * * * * 

"Hey Vin!" JD said when he noticed his longhaired friend enter the bullpen.  "Hey Ez," he added, spying the undercover agent following behind, clutching his box of mementos tightly.

"Guys," Vin greeted them succinctly.

The four agents watched them with open curiosity.  They were all aware of Ezra's escape from the hospital and his impromptu trip out of town with Vin on his tail, but Chris had been unusually close-mouthed about where they had gone and why.  

"Where you guys been?"  Buck asked outright.

"Around," Vin said, sharing a smile with Ezra.

"You feelin' better, Ez?" JD asked, worried at the pallor of his friend's face.

"Much, Mr. Dunne," Ezra said.  Then, as if to contradict his words, Ezra began to cough again.

"Perhaps you should have stayed in the hospital a few more days, brother," Josiah said, his brow creasing with concern.

"I'm fine," Ezra answered between coughs.

"Sounds like it," Nathan muttered sarcastically.

Vin shot Nathan a dirty look just as Chris stepped out of his office.  "Boys," he addressed the new arrivals.  "My office."

Ezra looked at Vin, who shrugged in response.  The two of them quietly followed Chris into his office.  Vin slouched comfortably into one chair, while Ezra perched stiffly in the other.

Chris eyed the two men calmly.  "You gonna tell me what's going on?"

Vin looked at Ezra, letting him decide how much to tell their leader.  

Ezra shot him a grateful smile before turning toward Chris.  Slowly, he withdrew a picture of Monique and himself from the box that sat on his lap, handing it to the blond man.

Chris looked at the picture, lifting an eyebrow in surprise.  "Is she the reason for your little vacation?"

Ezra nodded.  Taking a deep breath, he related the entire story, including the devastating revelation that Bradley had made.

Chris said nothing as he listened to the sad tale, though he was horrified by what Ezra's cousin had done.  Knowing the man who sat before him, Chris had no doubt that he was shouldering the burden of guilt over the woman's death.  Strangely, he wasn't surprised that Ezra had dated someone who wasn't white.  It was just one more facet of a man who had proved to be more complex than he had ever imagined.  He could understand Ezra's need for closure, and wasn't about to give him a hard time; his agent had had enough of that already.

Ezra fidgeted in his chair, waiting for Chris's reaction.  He half-expected to be chewed out for taking off the way he had done.  But his boss surprised him.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Ezra," Chris said softly.  "I can see why you needed to make this trip... though I do wish you had told me before you left.  I would have been worried if Vin hadn't let me know where you were."

Ezra nodded slowly, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  But it never did.  

"You aren't planning any other excursions, are you?"  Chris asked.

"Not at the moment, no," Ezra replied cautiously.

"Good," Chris nodded.  "'Cause you look terrible.  You should be home in bed."

"That is next on my agenda, Mr. Larabee," Ezra said with a faint smile.

"I don't want to see your ass back here for at least a week, clear?"

"Crystal," Ezra replied.

Vin nodded to Chris as he and Ezra left the office.  He was grateful for his best friend's understanding of the undercover agent's problems.

Ezra stepped out the door straight into a paper-wad battle between Buck and JD.  One of the crumpled balls of paper hit him in the forehead, startling him.  The box he held slipped from his grasp, scattering pictures on the floor as it fell.

"Damn," Ezra muttered as he stooped to collect the precious photos.

"Sorry Ez," JD apologized, moving quickly to help.

"It's all right, Mr. Dunne," Ezra said with a sigh.

"She's real pretty, Ez," Buck said quietly, handing him a picture that had slid in his direction.

"Yes, she was," Ezra replied, giving the ladies' man a sad smile.

Nathan bent slowly, retrieving the photograph that had fallen near his feet.  He stared at it silently, shocked by what he saw.  Not in a million years would he have ever believed that Ezra would go out with a woman who wasn't white.  Yet, here was clear evidence that he had, and, judging by the adoring looks on their faces, it had been more than a casual relationship.  Not knowing what to say to the man, he silently handed Ezra the picture and turned away.  

Ezra took the picture, staring after the dark-skinned man as he left the room.  He turned a questioning gaze to Vin.

"I think you just gave him a lot to think about, Ez," Vin said quietly.

Ezra nodded to himself, then smiled self-consciously at his teammates before making his own escape from the room.

"I better go after him," Vin said with a sigh.  "Make sure he gets home."

The others watched him leave, sharing confused glances.

"I guess we're gonna have to wait to find out what that was all about," Buck said.

"It isn't really any of our business," Josiah said gently.  "Though I admit to being more than a mite curious, myself."

The three men looked at Chris, who had watched the mishap from his doorway.  He merely shrugged and went back into his office, closing the door on any further speculation.

* * * * * * * * * * 

The drive back to Ezra's apartment was a quiet one, both men lost in thought.  Vin pulled into the curb in front of the condo complex and turned to his friend.  "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Ezra said.

"You want me to tell the guys anything?" Vin asked.  "You know they're gonna ask."

Ezra pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.  "Yes, I know."  He sighed tiredly.  "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to give them a brief explanation."

"I can do that," Vin said.  "Though, I can't guarantee that Buck ain't gonna want more details about how you got such a beautiful woman to go out with you."

Ezra snorted with amusement.  "Mr. Wilmington does tend to have a one-track mind, doesn't he?"

Vin laughed.  "Yep."

With a shake of his head, Ezra opened the door and climbed out of the jeep.  "Thank you again, Mr. Tanner."

"That's what friends are for," Vin said, waving as Ezra shut the door.  He watched his friend trudge up the walk and into the building before leaving.  

* * * * * * * * * * 

Waving briefly at his teammates, Vin strolled into bullpen and straight to Chris's office.  Heaving a sigh, he dropped into the chair he had occupied earlier.

"He okay?" Chris asked.

"Yeah, I think so," Vin replied.  "Though I don't think he was quite ready to explain things to the rest of the guys."

Chris winced.  "I don't think I would have been, either.  He's had a rough enough time lately."

"Hell, it's bad enough that most people around here thought he was a racist son of a bitch, then to find out that his girlfriend got killed by his own cousin just 'cause she decided to go out with him...."  Vin shook his head.  "Christ, that's more shit than anyone should have to deal with."

"Yeah," Chris agreed.  The kind of guilt the southerner was feeling was something he understood more than most.  He had felt that same guilt after his wife had child had been killed.  Knowing that someone would be alive if they hadn't been associated with you was a hard burden for any man to bear.  

"I'm surprised he told me the story," Chris said.  "I figured he'd tell me to go jump off a bridge if I asked."

"I told him he could trust you," Vin said with a shrug.

"And he believed you?"

"Yep," Vin said, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.  "I think I finally convinced him that I'm really his friend.  Figure he would'a shot me by now, otherwise."

"That's good," Chris said quietly.  "After all the shit that's gone down, he could use a friend or two."

"Don't think he's gonna be trusting anybody for a while, though," Vin cautioned.  "We hurt him real bad this time, cowboy."

"I thought as much," Chris said resignedly.  "We'll just have to do better from now on."

"I guess I ought to go tell the guys what's goin' on," Vin said after a pause.

Chris looked at him with surprise.  "Is Ez okay with that?"

"Yeah," Vin replied.  "He figured he wouldn't get any peace unless he filled 'em in."

Chris laughed.  "It's the nature of the beast, Vin.  We're paid to be investigators, so we tend to have an overabundance of curiosity."

"No joke," Vin said with a grimace.  "Buck still ain't quit askin' about that woman who called here lookin' for me two months ago."

"Who was she, anyway?" Chris asked with a smirk.

Vin smiled and waggled his eyebrows suggestively as he walked out the door.

* * * * * * * * * * 

Ezra crawled into his bed, sinking into his pillows with a sigh.  He really did feel terrible, though he'd never admit it to anyone.  As he lay there, his thoughts turned to his teammates.  It had been a surprise to discover that he actually had a friend on the team – two, if he counted JD.  The feeling was almost foreign, since it had been such a long time since he had had a real friend.  Vin had certainly proven his friendship, standing by him throughout this entire situation despite his best efforts to push him away.  

His thoughts turned to the rest of his teammates.  Chris had surprised him.  Ezra had expected the man to jump all over him for his abrupt departure, but he had shown nothing but understanding and sympathy.  When he thought about it, though, it made sense.  Chris had lost people he loved whose only fault had been that they were part of his life, just as Monique had been a part of his.  The man had questioned his integrity, but it was part of his job to find the truth, so Ezra honestly couldn't fault him for his prying questions or his doubts about the situation with Bradley... though, that didn't make it hurt any less.

His other teammates painted a more confusing picture.  Josiah had not judged him outright, but Ezra had seen the doubt in the older man's eyes.  Buck had been a bit more obvious, though not as blatant in his hostility as Nathan had been.  It bothered him that the respect of these men meant so much to him.  When had that happened?  Ezra sighed, realizing that he truly wanted these men to be his friends.  He envied the camaraderie that they shared and wondered if it was something he could ever have.  He snorted in disgust at his own longings.  It was going to take a lot before he was willing to let these men get close to him.  He had started to let them in and they had thrown it in his face, tossing him aside when the situation went bad.  Well, not all of them, Ezra amended.  Vin and JD had stood up for him.  It warmed him a bit that there actually was someone who would bother to do that for him.  But he wasn't ready to take a chance on the others yet.

Ezra stared at the ceiling.  He would give them what they wanted, tell them what they wanted to hear, but he wouldn't make the mistake of trusting them again... not yet.  Things were still too raw and painful.  Oh, he knew they could be trusted to watch his back and might even take a bullet for him, but he wasn't willing to risk that hidden part of himself that they had been searching for so persistently.  Exposing his true self right now could only bring him pain, and he had had enough of that for two lifetimes.  No, he would play the part and be the man they wanted him to be, but, for now at least, the real Ezra Standish would remain safely tucked away behind the protective shell that had served him so well over the years.

_finis_

  


* * *


End file.
